


Unravel

by HeroMaggie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Fenders, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, Talk of binding, Trans!Fenris, add in totally AU, allusions to rape, allusions to torture, emotional angst, threw out the canon with the bathwater, violence - typical canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine sweep of Lowtown, a routine fight with raiders, a lucky hit by one rogue...</p><p>Set in Act 3, Kirkwall is on the cusp of eruption. Hawke patrols the streets to try to keep the city from fracturing, the Chantry and Circle are clashing more and more, and two companions find themselves drawn together as pre-conceived notions begin to unravel...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felixbug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/gifts).



> All the thanks in the world to Felixbug - who is graciously beta reading, offering advice, and basically holding my hand as I work my way through this story. 
> 
> Felixbug - this story is for you.
> 
> **Tags to change as the story progresses. Please prod me if you think a tag needs to be added. 
> 
> ***Prod gently, I bruise easily.

Blue flared as lyrium lit across tanned skin, the pull of the Fade translating into muscle movement and propelling Fenris across the battle lightning fast, massive sword swinging up and then down in a spine-crushing move that left the raider sliced diagonally from shoulder to hip. Another pulse of blue and the sword was pulled free and swinging around to intercept an attack from behind. Bare feet kicking up puffs of dust as he danced with the new attacker, Fenris parried another attack and then punched out with his fist, phasing at the last second to slide into bone and muscle, hand re-materializing inside the raider and yanking back, pulling the spine through the body.

The raider fell with a gargled scream, twitched, and lay still.

The battle looked nearly done - raiders attacking late at night was nothing new in Kirkwall. Hawke and her merry band of...well...and her band of assorted friends, liked to the troll the streets late at night looking for raiders, for carta, for smugglers and slavers. Hawke, the mantle of Champion weighing heavily on her shoulders, still saw the streets as part of her job. She still remembered her mother coming home from market when they lived in Lowtown - worry that she would be mugged. Still remembered her mother’s death at the hands of a blood mage...remembered the deaths of several women at the mad man’s hands. Still saw Merrill being accosted one night by a small band of slavers - the little blood mage successfully beating them back but not before taking several grievous wounds.

Hawke took Kirkwall seriously. She had, of course, saved it from one invasion already. And now she split time between keeping the streets safe from the thugs and the city safe from the growing tensions between the Circle and the Chantry.

If asked, she would tell you - eyes blazing a brilliant blue, as brilliant as Fenris’ lit brands - that she prefered dealing with the thugs because they were a straightforward enemy. The Chantry and the Circle offered too much emotional manipulation, too much fear, too much politics...just...too much. 

Fenris leaned on his sword and watched Varric take down an archer, the bolts thudding into the man with a meaty thwock and a sharp grunt of pained surprise. He was just about to offer congratulations on the shot when the knife slid under one strap on the side of his breastplate, twisting and sliding up - through the strap, to end under his underarm. He felt no pain, just the sudden entry of the knife and then a cold wake as the metal slid up his body and was pulled out. He swung, his sword coming up, and attacked the rogue before he could be stabbed again, the woman’s eyes widening as she ducked his sword only to find a hand buried in her chest. Fenris felt blood dripping down his side as he crushed the rogue’s heart. Stumbling, his sword fell with a loud clang that was covered up by Merrill’s shout. And then he was sinking down, eyes fluttering.

“We need to get you to Anders,” Hawke was saying, pulling at his arm. “Fenris, we can’t carry you. We need to get you to Anders.”

“S’ll be fine, Hawke,” he slurred, stumbling as Hawke pulled him up by sheer stubborn fear. “No magic.”

“You stupid elf!” She was screaming as she pulled him along. “You keep walking. You hear me, Fenris? Fenris!”

“Fine…Hawke…” The words seemed to dissipate in the air as he tumbled forward to slide down the stairs. He’d just lay here a moment, just to get his strength back, he thought muzzily as the world spun and then sank away into black.

***

Wisps of smoke curled up from the lantern’s wick, a testament to the fact that Anders had finally closed the clinic just as the sky was turning from pitch black to early morning dark grey. Hawke winced, knowing the healer would be tired and worn - and she hated to bother him when he had just gotten to bed - but Fenris was being dragged behind her and his skin had gone grey like the morning skies a few minutes ago.

Varric rushed ahead and started pounding on the door, each solid hit shaking the frame. It didn’t take but a minute and Anders was peeking through a crack to blink into the gloom, eyes falling on Hawke and throwing open the door, rushing out without needing to be told, lifting the elf up with a grunt, and rushing the bleeding man into the clinic.

“What happened?” Anders demanded as he started unbuckling the breastplate. “Tell me how long he’s been bleeding! Hawke!”

“We were taking care of raiders in Lowtown. A rogue got away and...we didn’t see her. She stabbed him pretty bad. I think the knife was poisoned, I don’t know. We came right here.” Hawke was twisting her hands together, Fenris’ blood coating them. “Will he…”

Anders had gotten the breastplate off and started to pull off the tunic, stopping at the sudden sight of dirty bandages wrapped tightly around the elf’s torso. He glanced at Hawke and moved around the cot, shielding Fenris as he pulled more of the tunic up, swallowing when he saw how far up the bandages went. “Hawke,” He pulled down the tunic and turned to face his friend. “Go get cleaned up. I’m going to be doing a lot of healing here and I will need it quiet. Varric usually has a runner outside. I’ll send them to you when Fenris is healed.”

“But….”Hawke said, starting forward, stopping when Varric and Merrill took her arms. “Alright. I just...please. I know you two don’t get along but...he’s a good friend.”

Anders nodded, his hand pressing down on the sluggishly bleeding wound. “He’ll live Hawke, I promise you. Go get cleaned up and rest. I’ll send a runner. We wouldn’t say no to some food a little later. He’ll be hungry.”

“You’ll eat too?” Hawke was backing up, eyes still on Fenris.

“I’ll eat too,” Anders said smoothly. “Go on. He’ll be alright.”

Hawke nodded, letting Merrill fuss over her and Varric lead her away. Anders waited until his friends had left and then rushed across the room to close the doors and lock them. Alone with the elf, he took a steadying breath and then reached for the tunic again, pulling it off slowly and carefully.

He couldn’t save the bandages, the knife had cut up through the side of them and the cloth was now stuck to the wound. He pulled out his own knife and started slicing carefully up Fenris’ front, wincing at how tightly wound the cloth was. When the knife snicked through the top of the cloth he put it away and peeled everything back, wincing now at the damage he uncovered.

Bruises marred Fenris’ body from waist to the top of his chest. His ribs looked malformed and a quick scan showed Anders that one was cracked. Two small breasts sat high on Fenris’ chest, and that made Anders sigh. The elf, he thought wryly, was going to be royally pissed when he woke up.

The wound still bled, a long jagged slice from the center of his side to just under the underarm. Anders leaned forward and sniffed, smelled something bitter, and sighed again. Of course it was a poisoned knife. Of course Fenris had been binding with bandages. Of course Anders would be the one to discover the elf’s secret...the only companion the elf distrusted more was Merrill.

Whispering a prayer for patience, Anders went to get a healing potion, clean cloths, and a salve. He downed a lyrium potion, wet one cloth with some of the healing potion, and got to work cleaning off the infected, poisoned wound.

***

It was the snoring that woke Fenris. Blinking, he tried to sit up and then stopped, arms crossing tightly over his chest when he realized he was in just a sheet and his leggings. The snoring was still buzzing through the room, a soft hum that seemed to happen more on the inhale than the exhale. Only one person snoring...soft and gentle...nearly purring.

Fenris looked around the room and realized he was in a clinic...no...the clinic. The abomination’s clinic. He was in the abomination’s clinic, wearing just a sheet...which would mean the abomination...no, no, no…

Panic built up in Fenris’ chest, backing up his breath and strangling him. The room spun as he gasped for air, hands fisting in the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he struggled to inhale.

“Shhh...you’re safe here,” The words were a soft murmur, accompanied by a gentle touch to his shoulder. A touch that had him lashing out, hand slapping harshly at Anders, the mage rumpled from sleep but clear-eyed and worried. “Fenris, look at me.”

Gritting his teeth, Fenris clutched the sheet to him, “Don’t touch me.”

“Alright. See, no touching. See my hands?” Anders was still talking softly, gently, his hands now held where Fenris could see them. “We need to talk.”

“No,” Fenris bit out. “You will give me my clothing and I will leave and you will never speak of this or I will crush your heart.”

Anders simply sat down on a cot across from Fenris and sighed. “I had to cut the bindings from you. And really, we need to talk about that nasty habit - you had a cracked rib. No wonder you walk hunched over” Anders tisked, Fenris gritting his teeth so hard the squeaking could be heard in the room. “But first things first. You were stabbed, poisoned, and lost a lot of blood. You won’t be leaving here today. You try to get up and walk and your legs are going to give out on you. I’m a healer, not a miracle worker. The poison needs to work it’s way out of your system and you’re weak from blood loss. Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck here with me.”

Fenris growled and swung his legs off the cot. A look of sheer determination crossed his face, brands flaring as he stood, took one step, and crumpled to the ground. Anders watched him flounder around for a moment, the sheet twisting and ripping a little as Fenris gave a cry of frustration before punching at the floor.

“Right,” Anders waited to see if there would be any more flailing and then slowly held out a hand, keeping his arm stiff as Fenris pulled himself up. Gently, Anders put one hand on Fenris’ shoulder and helped him sit back on the coat.

“So, like I said, your legs will give out. You need to eat and you need to rest,” Anders didn’t say I told you so. He thought, perhaps, there was enough uncomfortable in the room at the moment.

Fenris hunched in on himself, the ripped sheet held tightly to his chest, “Just...just say it. Or...what do you want? You have me here at your mercy.”

Anders blinked. “What am I supposed to say? Don’t get up? Rest? I thought I already said that.”

“Do not tease me.” Fenris yelled, throwing the sheet at him. “You saw me. You know. Why am I even still wearing these leggings? Do you not wish to…” He was cut off by Anders taking a step towards him, fury twisting the mage’s face. Something cold settled into Fenris’ stomach.

“No matter what I do, you still persist in seeing the worst in me. You were injured and I healed you. Yes, I had to cut your bindings off. Yes, I know what is under your tunic. No, I didn’t tell Hawke or anybody else.” Anders took another step forward and loomed over Fenris. “No matter what you may think, I am not a magister. I am not a slave owner. I am not a monster.”

He reached down and grabbed the sheet, thrusting it back at Fenris who simply gaped at him. “I…”

“You will rest. I will get you something to put on that will be comfortable. Do not ask me to bind you, because I will not. I may have a solution to your...complication...and will need to take a quick trip later today. Just to Lowtown. Now, Hawke will be stopping by with food. You will be pleasant to her as she dragged your ungrateful elven ass down to my clinic in the wee hours of the morning for me to put you back together.” Anders was rifling through a chest, growling nearly as well as Fenris usually did, voice harsh.

“Anders I…” Fenris tried again, tentative and quiet, a little scared at how angry the mage was.

A shirt was pulled from the chest and Anders stomped across the clinic to hand it to Fenris. Pinching his nose, he exhaled noisily. “Justice is very upset right now. When he’s upset, I’m upset. If you would simply put that on…”

“I need to use the privy,” Fenris whispered.

“Not a problem,” Anders said, turning around so Fenris could pull on the shirt. “I’ll help you to the privy. It has a door and a lock." Anders stressed the word lock.

Fenris was hunched over, arms tight around his waist, “Alright.” His whisper had Anders turning around, had him seeing the humiliation in the elf's stance.

“Fenris,” Anders sighed, unsure of how to best broach the entire topic, ultimately deciding to simply be professional. “I will help you to the privy. I need to open the clinic so I’ll help you to my bed after. It’s not like I ever get to sleep in it anyway,” The last bit was muttered.

The elf swung surprised eyes to Anders’ and then nodded, wrapping an arm around the mage’s back and sliding off the cot.

He was helped to the privy and then carefully tucked into Anders’ bed, the mage saying nothing more than he’d be back with food and to sleep. Settled on the lumpy mattress, garbed in one of the mage’s shirts, Fenris pondered Anders’ words and actions - what was said and what was not said, his fear and terror at being found out, and the mage’s easy acceptance. He was still trying to come to terms with everything when sleep claimed him.

***

“Fenris! I am so glad you’re alright. You scared the piss right out of me last night,” Hawke was nearly gibbering as she sailed into Anders’ little back room, basket of food in hand. “How are you?”

“Stuck in the abomination’s bed,” Fenris groused, squirming as Hawke tried to hug him. “Hawke...you are looming.”

“Oh! Sorry. I brought you food. Actually I brought food for you and Anders but he said he needed to step out. That man needs to eat, not run errands when he has a free moment,” Hawke pouted. “He’s skin and bones. I should know, the last time we were out on the Wounded Coast I saw him bathing and was horrified. Horrified!”

She was too busy pulling out bread and cheese and some sort of soup that had been packed in a towel-wrapped jar to see Fenris grimace and slouch. He waited for Hawke to pour soup into a bowl and pulled the sheet higher up his chest. The soup smelled good and the elf’s stomach gave a loud rumble.

“Do you need me to feed you?” Hawke was fussing at the blankets now, smoothing them over Fenris’ legs so she could place a plate of sliced bread and an apple on the bed. “I can.”

“Hawke,” Fenris held out one hand, “Give me the soup.”

“Ok! It’s nothing fancy, just a quick chicken broth with some dumplings in it. You know, good and nutritious. Orana made it. I saved some for Anders. You will make sure he eats, right?” Hawke busied herself tidying everything back into the basket. “If you don’t want to stay here I can bring you to the house. Run you a bath. Oo...wash your back and hair! I have a brother, nothing you have would be shocking.”

Fenris grimaced, “Hawke...are you flirting with me? I am injured.”

“I would never! Merrill would have my hide and you know it. I just...we didn’t watch you and…” She huffed. “I should learn some basic healing spells.”

“Because being healed by an untrained mage is exactly what I would want when on my deathbed,” Fenris said dryly, watching as Hawke flushed. “Your abilities are fine as they are. The abomination is a decent healer.”

“Don’t call him that, he’s not an abomination. And decent? He’s the best damn spirit healer I’ve ever met.” Hawke turned thoughtful for a moment, “He’s also the only spirit healer I’ve ever met.” Fenris snorted at that, making Hawke laugh.

“Where did the mage go?” Fenris took a sip of the soup and sighed, the warmth sliding down his throat and making his toes wiggle.

“He said he had an errand, to tell you not to worry, and that he would be back in a few minutes,” Hawke shrugged. “If you ask me, he looked a little preoccupied. Muttered something about hoping a shop was open.”

Fenris hoped he wasn’t flushing. This had to be the alternate to the bandages that Anders had mentioned. For a moment, shame burned brightly in his gut. It was obvious that the mage had not said anything to Hawke. Nor had he forgotten what he had said about finding clothing for Fenris. “He was sleeping over his desk.” Fenris didn’t know where the words had come from.

Hawke simply sighed, “I don’t know if I’ve ever walked in and found him asleep anywhere else. I wasn’t sure he did sleep. Like I said, he barely eats.”

Silence descended again, Hawke sighing as she thought about Anders while Fenris finished his food. Hawke cleaned up the dishes and then resumed her spot next to him on the bed - seemingly not ready to leave even though Fenris had eaten and was growing tired again.

Finally, Hawke stood and patted Fenris’ leg. “I’ll head on out. Anders’ helpers are out there bandaging and doing whatever it is they do. He should be back any minute. Unless you need me here…”

Fenris slid back down on the bed and shook his head. His belly was fully, he was warm, and he was feeling drowsy. “No. I shall sleep, I think. Thank you, Hawke.”

“I’ll be back to check on you,” She said with a smile.

Fenris lay curled up under Anders’ blankets, hand patting lightly at the sheet, while he started to drift off. He wondered where Anders had gone, what he was getting, and how it would be different from the bandages that had been destroyed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders visit Fran for clothing help
> 
> Justice and Fran have a very interesting discussion
> 
> Fenris' worldview takes a bit of a hit.

Lowtown was quiet this time of the day - mid-afternoon with heat shimmering up from the pavement and the winds quiet. Most of the street vendors had closed till evening to avoid the swelter, brightly colored awnings covering empty tables and chairs. The shops were still open, though; windows thrown wide to catch any hint of air and shopkeeps fanning themselves while buyers purused goods and haggled for better deals.

The shop Anders was looking for was scrunched between an herbalist and a milliner - one broad window took up the small storefront and showcased a seamstress dummy wearing a gauzy negligee. Silk stockings were displayed on a small stand next to it - probably the latest import from Orlais.

Fran’s Fine Fripperies was a catch-all store of silken extravagance. It carried items a shopper would expect to find in Hightown, catered to a varied crowd, and always seemed to have just the thing one was looking for. Anders knew about it because he had a weakness for comfortable silken smalls and because Fran knew how to repair the feathers decorating his coat.

In fact, Fran had made his newest coat - the black suede supple and well-fitting, the feathers striking.

It was Fran that Anders was hoping would have something safer for Fenris.

The door jingled as he walked in and he waved at Elena, Fran’s assistant. “Hey Elena, is Fran in? I need some help.”

“Anders! Your coat looks so good on you. Yes, she’s here. One moment. Can I get you some tea? Maybe some cookies?” Elena beamed up at him, a petite, willowy woman who seemed more Fae than even the Dalish.

“Oh, you know I can never say no to your cookies,” Anders sat down on a cushioned chair to wait for Fran. “And a cup of tea would be welcome.”

The sound of swishing skirts heralded Fran’s arrival, the middle-aged, dark-skinned woman sweeping into the room and beaming at Anders. Salt and pepper hair was coiled on her head, a wide smile was on her face, and her big brown eyes lit up in welcome, “Hello love. What can I do for you today?”

“I need help. I have…” Anders tried to think of how to put this. “A man at my clinic who has been binding with bandages.”

“Andraste’s kinked pubic hairs,” Fran muttered. “Is he alright?”

“A cracked rib, excessive bruising...I only found out because of an injury. Look, he’d kill me if he knew I was talking about him.” He watched Fran mime locking a lock and throwing away the key. “I knew I could trust you. I brought his tunic. It needs fixing and he needs something safer to wear.”

“Is he large in the chest, dear?” Fran was turning the tunic over in her hands. “Tevinter make, royal bastards the Tevinters. I know you mage types think the sun rises and sets on them but really. He’s lucky to be alive. In Tevinter, you are what you’re born and that’s that. There’s a limit to what blood magic can do, you know. They’re more likely to brainwash a body than do anything else.”

Anders thought that over, turned her statement over in his mind and poked it. Justice reared up and both souls recoiled at the sudden realization, “He was a slave, Fran. He’s an elf.”

“Maker’s mercy, the poor dear. Then...his Master…” Fran was gripping the cloth.

“Is a right bastard,” Anders confirmed, fighting down Justice. “Justice is...upset.”

“As he should be, love. As he should be. Well, I can make him some tunics like this that’ll have padding along the chest. Same size tunics, extra padding, put on an undershirt and well, it’ll work if he’s small. Which he probably is. Elves aren’t known for their busty exteriors, if you get my drift. It would normally take me a couple of week or so - what with my workload. For you, I’ll do it in a week. Till then, I recommend some looser shirts and one of these.” She reached behind the counter and pulled out something that looked like a bodice.

“Fran…” Anders started.

“Oh stop. Look, it’s solid broadcloth - good and sturdy. It’ll breath, it’ll let him breath. He wears it over an undershirt, laces it up the front and the pulls a loose shirt on. If he wears armor, so much the better.” She took the bodice to Anders. “I sell these by the handful. Several guardsmen, if you get my meaning. Which you should - because I’m not going into more detail.”

Anders fingered the cloth and then glanced up at Fran. “Is this going to be pricy?”

“You taking him under your wing then? You are a softy, make no mistake,” Fran tutted. “You healed up Elena’s leg last month after her little trip. You bring me a crate of healing potions and let me see that handsome spirit of yours and we’ll call it a deal.”

Anders rolled his eyes and waited to hear Justice’s thoughts. Justice gave the mental equivalent of an eye roll and surged forward. Anders gave a squawk that died out into a rumble of discontent, “FRAN, WE ARE HERE.”

“Yes you are. Dear boy, you still planning to do what we talked about?” Fran packed the bodice, a couple undershirts, and a few soft, cotton shirts in a bag.

“WE WILL NOT BE DISSUADED FROM OUR GOAL.” Justice rumbled, nodding.

Fran sighed. “Fine then, but have your Anders stop to see me. I have some thoughts on minimizing the casualties, if you get my drift. It would be unjust of you to kill innocents.”

“WE WILL LET YOU KNOW BEFORE IT HAPPENS.” Justice seemed to pause, head tilting. “YOU HAVE BEEN A GOOD FRIEND, FRAN. I HAVE NOT HAD MANY. YOU...MAKE ME…”

Fran handed him the bag and patted his hand, her eyes misty. “Ah Justice, how I wish better for you two. But the Maker works in mysterious ways.” Something sparked between them and Fran hummed and stepped back. “Now you let your nice man have his body back so you two can go heal.”

Anders shivered and then blinked, gazing down at the bag and then up at Fran. “Why do you help me?”

“Somebody has to, love. Your Hawke is too busy flitting around to see what needs to be done. You come see Fran before everything comes to a head. We’ll figure this out, sure as sure.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, closed her eyes and gave a smile. “Don’t let him push you too hard. He’s scared, love. Scared and alone. Change is blowing...and change doesn’t always come quietly.”

Shaking his head, Anders stood. “I know better than to ask you to elaborate.” He clutched the bag to his chest and offered a short bow, “Thank you.”

“Such manners,” Fran cooed, seeing him out of her shop. Her eyes tracked him down the street, something flashing in the brown depths, and then she wandered to the back of her store.

***

Fenris woke slowly, stretching and enjoying the soft cotton shirt and ease of breathing. His side felt better, his head felt better, and his bruises had been healed. Even his ribs felt better. He still was leery of Anders’ help, but he even seemed slightly more hopeful that the healer would have some ideas on how to fix his binding issues.

He could hear Anders’ voice in the main room, the healer laughing and then saying something garbled. Fenris stood, his legs wobbling, and slowly shuffled to the curtain that separated the sleeping alcove from the clinic - peeking out.

Anders was helping a pregnant woman from one of the cots, her stomach swollen. Her face was open, smile happy, as Anders patted her stomach gently and said something. She gave another giggle, nodded, and carefully waddled from the clinic. Anders watched her for a moment and then turned, catching Fenris’ eye. The healer’s face was open and happy, smile curling his lips and eyes sparkling. Fenris had never seen him as such - so relaxed.

It made him flush and shuffle back to bed, uncomfortable and unsure.

Anders breezed into the room a moment later, a bag in his hands.

“Well, I have good news and some ok news.” He said, sitting on his bed and offered Fenris a smaller smile. “But first, I need to check your wound.”

“I...it is fine,” Fenris scooted further under the blankets and crossed his arms over his chest.

Fran’s words echoed in his mind and Anders sighed, gentling his tone. “I don’t need to pull up the whole shirt, just the side. Roll to face the wall and we’ll do this quickly. Then I can show you what I bought.”

Fenris’ eyes were wide and a little wild, breath starting to turn into shallow pants. Anders could almost smell the fear hovering over him. Swallowing, Fenris turned to face the wall and unclutched the blankets.

He was clenching his eyes closed, lips pressed tightly together, as Anders reached out and slowly pulled up the side of the shirt. The feeling of Anders’ fingers stroking down his side had Fenris shuddering once and then stilling, a small whimper escaping before he swallowed it down.

“The wound is healing well. I'm going to cast a healing spell to finish this. The poison is finally gone and one good burst will help get rid of any chance of scarring. Ok? Can you handle this?” Anders spoke softly, gently.

“Just do it,” Fenris gritted out.

Healing magic washed up tanned skin, slid over the lyrium brands, spread out, and then down into Fenris - who inhaled sharply and then sighed, body going lax. Anders watched the elf’s face, watched as it relaxed - which helped him relax.

“There,” the shirt was smoothed back down and then Anders was sitting back.

“So the good news is that I have clothing for you. The bad news is that your tunic is at the shop - and before you ask why it’s so that more can be made with padding. The padding will negate the need for anything but a light undershirt. Until they’re done, and they’ll take about a week, I have this.” Anders pulled out the modified bodice. “It looks like a bodice but it’s designed to compress your chest. You’ll wear one of these lightweight undershirts under it and one of these looser cotton shirts over it,” Anders showed the rest of Fenris.

The elf rolled over and sat up, reaching out to touch the cloth. “It’ll be more comfortable?”

“And safer,” Anders said, nodding.

“You...you bought them? What do I owe you?” The words were tentative. “What do I need to do to earn them?”

“Take them with you? Wear them? Promise me no more bandages?” Anders said, exasperation in his voice. “Now, have you eaten?”

“Yes, Hawke brought food. That food there is for you,” Fenris watched Anders poke in the basket.

“I’ll eat some bread later. I can give this away…” Anders blinked at the growl. “Or I can eat it now.” Anders glanced over at Fenris and then started unpacking the basket. “Oo...soup!”

While Anders fussed over the food, heating the soup in his hands with a quick spell and laying out the bread and cheese, Fenris was holding up the bodice and pondering how it all worked. He glanced over at the abomi...at the mage...and then back to the bodice.

“Anders…” Fenris started, watching the mage blink at him. It hit the elf that he had used the mage’s name - a rare occurrence for him. “I am unsure how this works.”

“Ah!” The bright tone and sudden smile couldn’t quite cover up the mage’s nerves. “You put it on like a vest and then lace the front with that cord. Fran was sure it would fit.” Anders fidgeted a moment and then turned back to his soup, taking a long swallow and sighing in pleasure.

Assured that the mage would not turn around, Fenris shrugged out of the shirt he was wearing and pulled on the thin undershirt. It was close-fitting, the fabric smooth and cool against his skin. Soothing against the brands. Then went on the bodice, Fenris frowning a little as he laced it up and pulled, the edges coming together snugly but not as tight as he was used to. He tied off the cord and and tucked the excess down into the bodice.

By that time, Anders was done with the soup and he glanced over at Fenris, worried at how quiet it had gotten. A real smile lit his face, small and tentative. “It fits. I’m glad.”

“How do you know about these things? Why are you not…” Fenris plucked at the blanket. “You should be calling me names, pressing me for...for relations.”

“Is that what Danarius did?” Anders stood suddenly, uncomfortable with the conversation. “I am not him, Fenris. I’m a healer and I’ve seen just about everything. There were mages in the Circle who were like you. Surprisingly, there were templar as well. It...it just was. We didn’t question it. And it never made any mind. A mage is a mage and armored assholes are armored assholes. My only concern is for your safety and health. You're still Fenris."

Fenris frowned a little, slipping from the bed to pull on one of his new shirts. It was looser than his tunic, lightweight and draping. He tucked the hem into his leggings and frowned more. The cloth was still black but...poofier. He felt light, loose, and able to move. It was unsettling. The comfort would take some getting used to.

“One of your breastplate straps was cut,” Anders was saying. “You’ll need to get that fixed.”

“I can repair it myself.” Fenris said on a rush of air, needing to be gone. Needing to be away from this mage and his understanding eyes and gentle smiles. “I...thank you...for your hospitality.”

“Oh!” Anders was a little shocked by the thanks. “You’re...you’re welcome. I’ll bring the tunics to you in a week.”

“I can get them, if you will give me the name of the shop,” Fenris insisted.

“No, no. I owe the shopkeep some potions. I’ll pick them up,” Anders insisted right back.

They looked at each other, Anders rubbing at the back of his neck and Fenris shifting on his feet. After a moment, Fenris tilted his head down, hair falling into his face, “Fine. I will stop by your clinic in a week to pick them up. Do not trouble yourself on my account, mage.”

“Would never dream of it,” Anders murmured, watching the elf buckle on his breastplate, minus the one buckle, pick up his sword and extra shirts, and nearly stomp from the clinic. He made a mental note to keep tabs on the elf. He didn’t want to see him return to binding out of spite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of watching is going on between Fenris & Anders.
> 
> Anders to make sure Fenris is alright and Fenris waiting for Anders to decide to pick on him...
> 
> And then he goes to pick up the tunics and perhaps...just perhaps...things are starting to change between these two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh...the fluff starts to settle in. It only gets sweeter from here (at least for now...)

The week was a long one - at least for Fenris. Those seven days were spent eying the mage at every opportunity, waiting for him to make Fenris the butt of a joke or tell the group his secret or press for something...anything...from him. But all Anders did was watch Fenris walk and nod to himself.

The mage was content to watch the elf: to note the better posture, the ease of movement, the seeming lack of pain Fenris was in. He wanted to ask if the elf was feeling better with the new binder but didn’t want to press, didn’t want to pry, didn’t want to open himself up to more ridicule or aggression. Didn’t want to draw attention to Fenris in any way.

The two of them seemed to be dancing some elaborately choreographed dance to music only they heard. The rest of the group had begun to notice this, the general lack of bickering and the sudden watchful looks both men seemed to have developed. Nobody said anything to either of the men, though Varric had wagered that the two of them would crack within a week and return to their snide commentary and passive-aggressive displays.

Isabela had wagered that they would end up naked and sweaty.

The group watched the dance unfold and wondered when something would change. If something would change. And on the seventh day, change hit.

***

“Mage,” That was all the warning Anders had that Fenris was in his clinic. He heard the word mage and then the elf was backing him against the back wall, brands flaring. “I am tired of waiting. Where are my tunics?”

“On my bed? I had some patients and…” Anders held his hands up, “What’s wrong?”

“Why should anything be wrong?” Fenris growled, stepping back to pace. “Perhaps I am simply tired of being in your debt. Tired of waiting for you to make your move. To humiliate me, use me, to do something...anything.”

Anders stiffened at that, “I told you that all I was interested in was your safety and well-being. You persist in this belief that I am going to abuse you. You know what? Just take your tunics and get out. Get out and don’t bother coming back.”

Anders shot the elf a glare and stalked across the clinic to a workbench, settling onto a stool and grabbing a mortar and pestle. There were muted mutters as the mage began to violently grind whatever poor herb was in the mortar, his hand clenched around the stone pestle with a white-knuckled grip. Every so often, fade blue would flicker around him and the muttering would resonate with a deep rumble - Justice responding to Anders’ grumbling.

Fenris eyed the mage’s stiffened spine, angry movements, and noticeable internal argument and felt a sudden flash of remorse and a little fear. He didn’t know what to do about either emotion and instead of talking, moved to Anders’ back room to see his tunics.

They looked exactly the same as his original tunic. He picked one up and felt the added fabric on the front. A glance inside showed that it had been lined with the same type of fabric the binder was made from. Thoughtful, Fenris pulled off his breastplate and shirt and unlaced the binder, placing everything on the bed before pulling on the tunic.

It was a tight fit - not uncomfortable, just snug. He had left the undershirt on because the fabric felt so nice against his skin, soothing and comfortable. It helped to keep the tunic from sticking, helped the slide of fabric that settled snugly over his chest. Running his hands down the front of the tunic, he realized everything sat nearly flush - flat and comfortable. The tunic looked the same as always, but he needed no bandages. There was no pain. He could breathe and stand up straight.

Fenris felt giddy, excited. Embarrassed.

Anders had done this for him. Anders had made sure he had clothing that was comfortable and safe to wear. Anders...had not used his secret to hurt him. And it made Fenris ashamed.

He pulled back on his breastplate and rolled up the new tunics, his shirt, and the binder. A look around showed that the little room looked the same as when he had left - bed untouched, chair untouched...it was like Anders never used it. Which was...worrisome.

Stepping back out into the main room, Fenris shuffled a moment before clearing his throat, “Ah...Anders?”

The mage looked back at him, expression neutral, “Yes?”

“They fit,” Fenris shuffled again, head dipping down so he could stare at his toes and not at the mage, “Thank you.”

Silence filled the room, making Fenris shuffle more. He blinked as boots filled his vision, causing him to look up. Anders stood in front of him, a shy smile on his face. “May I see?”

The simple request had a flush filling Fenris’ ears. He nodded, placing everything on a nearby cot and slowly unbuckling his breastplate. He couldn’t look at the mage as he placed his armor on the cot and then straightened, arms stiff at his side, back ramrod straight. He could barely breathe.

Anders watched Fenris’ skin flush and then pale a little as he straightened, the elf’s hands clenched into fists. The tunic fit smoothly and snugly, the fabric nearly flat across the front. Unless a person knew to look, nobody would see a difference, and even if they did - well, it looked natural. A contour of the cloth and not the body underneath.

“Is it comfortable?” Anders was smiling, unable to help himself. He felt pleased that he could do this - even for a man who disliked him.

“Yes. I am surprised at how comfortable the clothing is. I should be able to swing my sword with no worries,” Fenris sounded surprised and impressed.

“Good. That’s...that’s good,” Anders nodded. “Well...I…”

“I suppose I should…” They both stared at each other, both men shuffling slightly.

“Anders! Hey Anders! I have...oh...Fenris!” Hawke came to a stop just inside of the clinic, her eyes bouncing between both me. “What are you doing down here? Are you hurt?”

Fenris looked at Anders, panic building in his chest. He opened his mouth and found himself gaping as Anders smiled and turned to Hawke, “I had taken his tunic to be fixed and he didn’t know where. So he came to retrieve it and the extras he wanted.”

“Oh,” Hawke said, surprise and a little suspicion in her voice. “And you took care of getting them ordered?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He was in need of help, so I helped,” Anders stepped away from Fenris and turned to face Hawke. “So, what brings you to my hovel of healing?”

“Oh! I have a thing from Meredith - stop squinting, you know how it goes. She pushes and I push back. Anyway, some mages got loose. Can’t have mages running around all willy nilly,” Hawke’s lips quirked as her staff bobbled on her back. “Maker knows, we’ll lower the societal standing of the city.

“It’s truly amazing Hightown hasn’t combusted from you and Merrill living up there, Hawke,” Anders remarked dryly. “So...we have escaped mages and Meredith...can we assume that all of them are supposed to be nefarious blood mages? Wicked tempters working against the purity of the Maker? A blight upon Kirkwall?”

“I’d think that statue they put up of me in the docks is blight enough…I’m wearing freaking Templar armor. Haha, good one Meredith,”Hawke groused.

Fenris was listening to them chatter as he pulled on his breastplate. He knew Hawke would need a warrior to stand with her but would be reluctant to ask Fenris. He couldn’t see how asking Aveline would be any better - the guardswoman was more likely to arrest the mages than help. And he...he realized with a start...Hawke would expect him to gripe the entire night.

A glance at Anders showed the mage looking at him, a hint of a smile on his face - as if waiting for the other shoe to drop and Fenris to start his usual anti-mage rhetoric. When none was forthcoming, a considering look filled his gaze.

Hawke cleared her throat, “So, ah. Fenris...I know how much you hate us rampaging mages...”

“You know I do not hate you, Hawke,” Fenris responded mildly.

“You hate Anders and Merrill,” Hawke pointed out. “But that’s neither here nor there…”

“I do not hate them, either. I am concerned about Merrill’s blood magic. And the...Anders’...spirit…” Fenris flushed as astonishment filled both Anders and Hawke’s face. “Perhaps I have been...uncharitable. Anders has...was...is…He is very helpful and was…” Fenris gave up and sighed. Verbal communication would never be one of his strengths.

Anders glanced at Hawke, shook his head minutely, and then offered a slight smile to Fenris, “You can leave your things here and get them after the fun, if you’d like.”

Fenris felt his lips twitch into a small smile, “I would appreciate that, thank you. Hawke, whenever you are ready, my sword is yours.”

“Oh well...let’s go track down some apostates! Maybe we won’t have to kill them all…”

***

“It was like...famous last words, Varric.” Anders was moaning as they stumbled from the Hightown estate. “Maybe we won’t have to kill them all, Hawke says. So far, we’ve killed two. Two mages.”

“They turned blood mage,” Fenris pointed out. “Though the one in Darktown...I believe she was, perhaps…”

“Don’t say it. My world view can’t take any more surprises from you, Fenris,” Anders begged.

Varric snorted softly, “Go ahead Broody. I’m dying to hear this.”

“Did she turn abomination because the demons offered her power or because she feared for the children? It seems counterintuitive to turn into an abomination to help children.” Fenris looked confused - actual confusion in his eyes. “The elf was clearly insane. But the woman…”

Hawke sighed, “She came to Kirkwall looking for aid. She was looking for help for orphans from the Blight, Fenris. And what did the Circle do? They locked her up and refused to help the children.”

Fenris pondered that, “And we killed her.”

“She was an abomination, Fenris. The demon...it would have needed to be stopped.” Hawke said gently. “She was pushed into a corner and thought she had no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Fenris said finally. “To choose evil…”

Anders huffed, but stayed quiet. Justice swirled in his mind, the spirit listening to the conversation. Anders felt the push of the spirit and pushed back. Now was not the time to allow Justice full sway, but the spirit kept prodding. Anders sighed, “Justice says that what was done to her was unjust. That her choice was wrong, but the Circle was wrong as well. Her death does not balance out the scales. Nor does her choice invalidate the unjustness of the Chantry’s teachings.”

He had really hoped to not get into an argument with Fenris. For a moment there in his clinic Anders had thought that perhaps Fenris and he could be...something...friends maybe? There had been a vulnerability in the elf’s face that he had never seen before and it was something so fragile, so rare...that opening up...that Anders was loathed to poke at it.

But Justice had pushed, had needed to answer Fenris’ question. And now the words had been said and perhaps...perhaps that moment had been for nothing. There was no way Anders could not stand for the mages. Just as, it felt, there was no way for Fenris to not hate the mages Anders was trying to save.

Except...Fenris seemed to consider the words. “I have a hard time seeing past the mage, past the magic. Past my experiences.” He saw Anders open his mouth again and stopped walking, holding up his hand, “But I am willing to concede that the woman was pushed, that cornering a person will cause them to make bad choices. I have seen, recently, that not all mages are like the magisters. That there are some who would help rather than hurt.”

“Am I dreaming? I am. I’m dreaming. Did the broody mage-hating elf just admit that not all mages are evil?” Anders was openly gaping, mouth hanging open.

“Fasta vass, not all mages are evil. But you, most definitely, blather,” Fenris groused, though not has heated as usual. “We do have one mage left to corral.”

“Convenient that he’s at the Hanged Man. After this conversation, I need a drink,” Hawke said, slapping Fenris on his back as she moved past. “I always knew you were a good man, Fenris.”

Varric chuckled as Fenris gave a growl at the back slap and muttered something about mage hands always touching him. Anders took the opportunity to poke, lightly, at one spikey shoulder and was rewarded with another growl and his hand slapped. “Do not prod me, mage.”

“Oo...back to mage.” Anders teased, giddy from Fenris’ words and unable to control his delight. “Careful or people will think you like me.”

“Venhedis!” Fenris barked, stomping off at Hawke.

Varric glanced up at Anders, eyebrow quirked, “Something you wanna tell me, Blondie? Something perhaps about what’s going on between you and Broody?”

“Varric, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Anders feigned ignorance while still wondering about Fenris.

“Uh-huh, you keep telling yourself that, Blondie. But let me tell you, we’ve all noticed how you two boys have been sniffing at each other. Hate’s a funny thing. Strong emotions have a habit of turning around,” Varric said, ambling off after Hawke and Fenris.

Anders blinked in surprise before rushing to catch up. Suddenly he wondered what Varric was talking about and just how he had looked to everybody else while he was watching Fenris. And then it hit him - he had been watching Fenris. And that realization hit him harder than any of the words spoken that evening.

***

Anders was still thinking about Fenris’ words and Varric’s words while staring at the de Launcet son with a mixture of amusement and sadness. A glance at his companions showed them looking at Emile de Launcet with emotions ranging from disbelief to straight gawking.

“Surely the mage is lying. He is the most cunning of blood mages,” Fenris hazarded, his face betraying his words - as if he couldn’t countenance anybody being this...moronic.

“No...no he’s telling the truth. He’s spreading rumors in the tavern that he’s a blood mage so he can get laid,” Anders confirmed, watching Emile’s face drop. “Of all the idiotic things...you should know better.”

“I just wanted a kiss,” Emile bleated.

“You should have asked to be transferred to Ferelden’s circle. Nothing but kissing went on there. At least when I was there...which I haven’t been for a while. So things could have changed,” Anders ruminated, a wry smile covering his face. “Lots of...kissing…”

“Will you be returning me to the Circle then?” Emile was doing a great impression of wide-eyed terror. “They’ll…”

“Probably make you Tranquil. Hang you if you’re lucky. Or maybe Meredith with just have a good laugh - hard to tell,” Anders said thoughtfully, ignoring Justice’s jab in his mind.

Hawke sighed, “We aren’t making you go back. But sweet Andraste, stop trying to pick up prostitutes and catch a ship out of Kirkwall.” She glanced around the tavern, saw Isabela, and waved at her friend. “Look...I think I can help you with the ship problem…you’re on your own with the kissing.”

Isabela sauntered over, leaning a bare hip against the table, “What can I for you sweet thing? You look befuddled. It’s cute. Not as cute as Kitten, but not everybody can be that adorable.”

“Izzy, we need to get this mage out of Kirkwall,” Hawke gestured at Emile, flushing at the words.

“Oh? What did he do?” Isabela reached over and tapped Emile’s nose, a wide grin on her face.

“Told people he was a blood mage to meet women,” Anders said dryly.

Isabela blinked and then threw her head back, her laugh husky and full. “Oh, now that’s a fun story. Come with me, sweetheart. I’ll get you a ship and a kiss before you leave.”

“I’ve heard you can do other things besides just kiss…” Emile said, hope in his eyes as he gazed reverently at Isabela’s breasts.

“Mm...Hawke. I’ll get him out of town. And perhaps find a friend who can help with his other problems, hmm?” Another chuckle and Isabela was throwing an arm around Emile’s shoulders. “Come with me my fine mage, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine that I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Don’t eat him alive!” Hawke called, watching as Isabela pulled Emile close and walked him from the tavern. She waited for the tavern doors to close, turned to her friends, and grinned, “That went well. See! We didn’t have to kill them all!”

Anders just sighed and nodded, relieved that he hadn’t to kill three mages or return anybody to the Circle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking...and a few kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question is - will there be smut? 
> 
> I have thought about it, seriously, the last couple of days. And my answer is - we'll see. I won't push either of them, but if it happens, it happens.

Blood mages had been taken care of, ale had been drunk in celebration - and then wine - and then some whiskey. Anders had contented himself with half a mug of watery ale and then cider, Justice mumbling about impaired senses not working well with planning. 

He was currently seated at Varric’s table, half-filled cup of cider in his hands, and eyes on the elf. Oh - he wasn’t staring. No. There was no staring going on. Because staring would have been noticeable. No, Anders would take a drink and then glance at Fenris. Laugh at a joke, and then glance at Fenris. Scratch his chin...glance at Fenris. 

He might as well have been staring. 

And every time his eyes strayed to the elf, he saw the elf staring back at him. Big green eyes watchful and curious, neutral expression on the elf’s face, one hand gripping a glass of wine and the other waving as Fenris spoke about...things. Anders wasn’t listening so much as just letting the elf’s voice wash over him. He certainly wasn’t enjoying the elf’s voice...at all.

After he met Fenris’ eyes for the fourth time it hit Anders - he had been listening to the elf talk like a lovesick girl swooning over a crush. All he lacked was the goofy smile and hair twirling...which he was not doing...his hand fell back to the table and away from the wisp of hair now brushing his ear.

The wisp of hair currently being stared at by the elf.

A glance down the table at Varric had the dwarf raising his cup at the mage, a little smile curling across his face. Anders harumphed, wincing when Hawke blinked at him. “I, ah, I think I had best head back. It’s getting late and I have work to do…”

“I shall accompany the mage. My belongings are still in his clinic. Besides, it is too late for him to be wandering about alone,” Fenris stated calmly, rising from his chair.

“I wander alone later than this all the time,” Anders argued, silencing as Fenris raised one eyebrow at him. “But you do have things at my clinic,” he finished in a rush.

“Have fun, Blondie,” Varric’s voice echoed down the table at Anders - who narrowed his eyes and gave another harumph.

Hawke simply waved and cuddled up to Merrill, who gave both men a blissful smile. “We’ll see you both later, yes? Right?” The little elf beamed.

“Later Merrill, yes. Night,” Anders glanced at Fenris again and then walked from the room - trying to keep from nearly running.

Fenris was right behind him - down the stairs, through the tavern and to the street. The elf followed him silently, an elf-shaped shadow of his very own lurking behind him. Any time Anders turned his head, he caught a gleam of green eyes, a hint of amused smile. The mage felt, a little, like he was being chased to his clinic and that thought brought him up short.

So short that Fenris ran into him, backing away suddenly with a blink. “Is there a problem?” He queried.

“Fenris,” Anders turned and simply looked at the elf. “Are you...were you…”

“Watching you?” Fenris hesitated. Now that Anders was facing him, his courage was failing. Give him a battlefield full of slavers or spiders or darkspawn and he’d cut through them all. Put this one mage in front of him and his knees weakened. “I...was. Yes.”

“Why?” Anders tilted his head, eyes searching Fenris’ face.

“Do you wish to discuss this in the street or in your clinic?” Fenris tried for a smile, feeling like he was grimacing instead.

“The clinic,” Anders nodded, turning to walk at a slower pace. “Tonight was interesting.”

“Mm,” The elf hummed, settling into walking next to the mage. “It was, yes.”

“You sounded like you have been...thinking…” Anders glanced over at Fenris who simply nodded. “What brought this on?”

“You,” was all the elf said. 

“I...me? What did I do?”Anders gaped a bit as he stepped onto the lift that would take them down to Darktown.

“You healed me, you took care of me, you purchased clothing for me…” Fenris fidgeted as the lift trundled down into the gloom. “You did not pick at me or press me for...anything...untoward.”

Anders thought about that, about how Fenris must have been terrified waking up in his clinic - secret exposed and at the mercy of a mage. He remembered his anger, Fenris flinching, the humiliation of having to ask for help. “I apologize that I got angry with you.”

“I…” Fenris quieted as the lift reached the Darktown.

“We’ll talk about it in my clinic,” Anders soothed. “Unless you aren’t comfortable.”

“There you go again,” a small smile quirked up Fenris’ lips. “Concern for my feelings.”

“I am a healer,” was the teasing response. “I may throw fireballs, but I prefer to make people feel better.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, comfortable with each other - for the moment at least. Fenris felt himself growing nervous, though, at the sight of the clinic doors. The lantern was out and Anders didn’t even slow as he walked past - instead he unlocked one door, ushered Fenris in, and then closed and locked it behind him.

“If I didn’t lock it, people would just wander in,” Anders explained. He threw the key onto a work table where Fenris could easily reach it and then offered the elf a smile. “So…”

Looking around the clinic, Fenris wondered just what he wanted to do here. Wondered what he wanted to say to this man...this mage. His thoughts jumbled around until he croaked out “Why?”

“Why what?” Anders slowly moved closer. “Why help? Why didn’t I push? Why didn’t I tease?”

“I have never given you any consideration, any friendship, any kindness,” The words were pained. “And when you have me at your mercy you...you did nothing but show me kindness. I do not...I have never…”

“At the hands of anybody but perhaps Hawke or one of our companions?” Anders asked, taking a step closer. Fenris looked like he wanted to bolt, like he wanted to cling to Anders, his eyes panicked and chest heaving. “Hey...look at me. Shh…”

“I think of you and it’s confusing, scary. You are a mage. You are possessed but...still…” Fenris reached out and clutched at Anders’ coat, fingers going white-knuckled as he clung. “I...wish…”

Not thinking, Anders gathered Fenris up against him, enfolded him into a gentle hug - no clinging, no clutching, no overly tight grip...just arms wrapped around him and pressing him oh-so-lightly against his chest. “Is this ok? Fenris...is this fine?”

“Yes,” The response was muffled, Fenris having pressed his face against Anders’ shoulder. “I thought I hated you and now...now I think perhaps I do not.”

Standing there, arms around the elf, Anders wondered what to do, where to go with this. He had a confused elf in his arms and...and what? He knew what he would have done - back before Justice. He would have pressed his advantage and what? Fenris wasn’t somebody to play fast and loose with. He had been a slave to a magister - a magister who had embedded lyrium into his skin...and…

Fenris pulled back a little to look at at Anders, eyes wide, and leaned up to press a light kiss to the side of the mage’s scruffy chin. 

“I…” Fenris’ eyes were huge, “Anders…”

Anders didn’t think, he bent down and brushed his lips over Fenris’ - gentle, coaxing, a simple press of lips. Now it was Anders turn to blink, wide-eyed down at Fenris. “I…”

They stared at each other, eyes wide, and Anders exhaled and bent back down for another kiss - another chaste, simple press of lips that Fenris returned hesitantly at first and then with more enthusiasm - slowly moving his lips over Anders’, hands going from clutching to kneading. 

They ended up on a cot, Fenris perched on Anders’ lap and pressing light kisses to his jaw. Anders gave a giggle as one kiss landed on a particularly sensitive spot and Fenris pulled back, cheeks flushed and lips pouty. 

“I’m sorry,” Anders gave a light laugh. “That last one tickled a bit.”

“I should be sorry. I have never kissed…” Fenris ducked his head. “And I am unsure…”

“Never?” Anders blinked. “Ever?”

“Slaves do not kiss. We...I am not a virgin…” Fenris started, stopping when Anders frowned. “What?”

“No,” Anders shook his head. “We can kiss but we will not do more. This is not because of gratitude. If it is...” He exhaled and then tilted Fenris’ face up, “What happened here...what we are doing now, you are free to say no. We have been...up till just a week ago we were at each others throats. Now, now we’re…”

“Kissing?” Fenris gave a wry smile. “This is not gratitude. I do not know what this is beyond a desire to see...to try...I am nervous and you feel safe,” Fenris frowned. “I did not kiss you to say thank you but because I wanted to.”

“I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give. If you say no, then I back away,” Anders promised.

“And what about...my…” Fenris hesitated, fingers plucking lightly at Anders’ coat.

“I will say this once. You are a handsome man, Fenris. How your body is shaped under your clothes has little bearing on how I see you. Nor would it matter if we ever decided to push further except for you to tell me what you do and do not like. Understand?” Anders wrapped his fingers around Fenris’ to still them. 

“Do you mean that? Or are you only saying that to sweet talk me? Isabela always talks about how you were…” Fenris frowned. “Though most mages just take, they do not sweet talk…”

Anders found a laugh bubbling up, exploding as a snort, “Fenris, I was much younger then. Younger...not possessed...trying to be free while hiding from the templars. I admit, I gave myself often then. Pleasure was something to be chased, something fleeting.”

He sobered, “But I’m not that man anymore. I don’t…” he stopped. “After Karl.”

Fenris remembered Karl, remembered feeling vindicated at the starburst brand on the older mage’s forehead, remembered thinking it was Just that Anders would have to put to the knife a mage who had wanted to run away, remembered the little burst of pleasure at Anders’ pain. He glanced up at the mage who was sitting there with a morose expression and wondered how much of that had been him and how much had been rage over finding out he was in the presence of a possessed apostate. How different would the last several years had been if Fenris had not simply assumed Anders was evil and had talked to him?

As he had with Hawke. 

Because Hawke, for all of her fireball throwing ways, had always listened to Fenris. She carried a staff and used magic and never once asked more of him than she asked of any other companion. And he watched her, yes, but also respected her. Valued her friendship. Looked forward to her visits. 

Anders gave a soft sigh and Fenris winced, he had not thought to offer up the same courtesy to his other mage companions. “Anders…”

“Mm?” The mage blinked and then gave him a small smile. “Yes?”

“You loved Karl…” It wasn’t what he wanted to know, or maybe it was.

“Love,” Anders gave a snort. “Love was a luxury not afforded to us in the circle. If you loved, the templars could take. They could use that love to bind you, to punish you...to punish the ones you loved.”

“And still…”

“And still. I did love Karl. I ran less with him around. I was more docile, better able to handle being in the Circle. He was there for me through every punishment,” Anders grew quiet at that. “And when I became a Warden, they moved him to Kirkwall. And when I came to save him, they took that last little thing from me. They made sure that I would be hurt - even now, even free of them. They stretched out their hands and took the last thing that would keep me from…” Anders let the words fade away. 

“Keep you from?” Fenris feared he knew what words had not been said.

“Fenris,” Anders cleared his throat, “I would not hurt you...our cause. My cause. It will only bring pain and death. You have a chance at freedom.”

“Not till Danarius is dead.” Fenris spoke firmly. ‘My life is not my own until that happens.” The elf seemed to ponder something and then met Anders’ eyes. “I wrote to my sister.”

“Did you?” 

“She answered. I was unsure if I would...if you...before, I would not have told you. But now, perhaps...she is coming to visit. Hawke said she’d go with me to see her. Varric, Sebastian, and Isabela also said they would go. Would you?” the question was hesitant.

“Yes. I’ll be there if you need me to be,” Anders nodded.

“And your spirit?” Fenris gave a half-smile.

“He has no choice, now does he?” Anders gave a laugh, wincing as Justice prodded him. “He is honored you would ask us.”

“Then I...I suppose I will…”

“You could stay. It’s late and Darktown is dangerous…”

“Are you insinuating that I am unable to handle a few drunk Carta…”

“No, no, I just thought you’d prefer to get some rest...I have writing…”

“Mage, you said it was late…”

Both men stared at each other, Fenris coughing and Anders starting to snicker. A moment more and Fenris stood, “I will rest here tonight. If only to make sure you sleep.”

“Oh now...we have...ok…” Anders laughed as Fenris grabbed the front of his coat and pulled. “I said alright, sweet Andraste. We’ll sleep. I’ll take a cot and you can...what?”

Fenris was just staring at him, gaze mild. Anders threw up his hands and sighed. “Fine. I think we can both fit on the bed. You’re a stubborn elf.”

Fenris didn’t say anything else, just followed Anders back and watched as the mage huffed and pulled off his jacket, boots, and socks. Another grumble at the elf and he was crawling into bed, curling up facing the wall. Shaking his head, Fenris pulled of his armor and tunic and laid down in his undershirt and leggings, facing the other way. 

The room grew quiet, both men slowly relaxing. Fenris gave a soft sigh and let himself slip into sleep. A moment later, Anders followed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice speaks with Fenris...and isn't quite the Demon the elf was expecting...
> 
> A sweet, quiet moment in the morning between Anders & Fenris...

It was the light that woke Fenris - bright and fade blue. For a moment he thought his markings had activated, that he had felt some need to defend himself and had woken ready to enact violence. It happened frequently - a sound would venture up from the bottom floor of his decrepit mansion - plaster falling or old furniture crumbling - and he would wake to a bright light, his brands gleaming in the dark.

Remnants of his time as Danarius’ bodyguard - always alert, always ready to strike out.

But this time, the light wasn’t from him. He rolled over, heart pounding in his chest, and gazed into eyes that belonged to no mortal man.

“ELF,” the voice rumbled at him.

“Demon,” Fenris said by way of greeting, reading himself to flee.

Justice gazed at him and huffed, “NO DEMON LIVES IN ANDERS, ELF. WE ARE JUSTICE. WE ARE VENGEANCE. WE ARE THE TWO SIDES OF THE COIN THAT BRINGS BALANCE.”

“You’re a spirit possessing a mage. Doesn’t that make you a demon?” Fenris sat up, already starting to pull away, stopping when one fade-blue hand clamped down on his left leg. “Let me up.”

Justice examined him, electric blue eyes sliding over Fenris’ face and then lower. The hand...Anders’ hand now lit from within by Justice’s power, stroked once over Fenris’ leg and released him. “YOU SING.”

“I never wanted to,” Fenris pointed out.

“AN INJUSTICE. ONE OF MANY YOU HAVE ENDURED. I HAVE OFTEN TOLD ANDERS THAT YOU LASH OUT DUE TO THE INJUSTICES VISITED ON YOU. FREQUENTLY I TELL HIM THAT TEVINTER WILL FALL. LIKE THE CIRCLES WILL FALL. LIKE THE CHANTRY…” Justice’s rumble washed over Fenris.

“You expect me to believe that you would be alright with Tevinter falling into ruin? You could be a magister there. Have power...rule…” Fenris scoffed.

“WE DO NOT WISH POWER. WE DO NOT WISH TO RULE. WE WISH TO BALANCE THE SCALES, TO SET RIGHT THE INJUSTICES VISITED ON THE INNOCENT.” Justice...Anders’ face scrunched in thought. “YOU KISSED US.”

“You, Anders, kissed me back,” Fenris wasn’t sure where this was going.

“IT IS A DISTRACTION ANDERS SHOULD NOT HAVE. WE ARE SO CLOSE TO OUR GOAL.” Justice now looked uncomfortable.

“So should I leave?” Fenris tried to stand again, and again found himself held in place by a hand. He frowned and activated his brands, phasing and pulling away to stand. Fade blue eyes sharpened on him, a sound that could only be described as wistful pouring from Anders...from Justice’s mouth.

“YOU SING OF HOME,” the spirit whispered. “A SONG I HAVE NOT HEARD IN A LONG TIME.”

That made Fenris stop. The sadness radiating from Justice...from Anders...it stopped his slow backwards walk. “Then return home and free Anders from your influence.”

“SADLY, I AM UNABLE. WE ARE BOUND, ANDERS AND I. I JOINED WITH HIM TO FREE THE MAGES, TO BRING HIM FREEDOM, TO BRING JUSTICE. HE OFFERED SO THAT I WOULD NOT PERISH. ASK HIM THE STORY. ASK HIM WHY, ELF.” Justice hesitated and then settled. “I WILL NOT KEEP YOU AWAKE. WE WILL BE THERE FOR YOU WHEN YOUR SISTER COMES.”

Fenris watched the blue light start to fade away leaving just a man...a mage...sleeping. Staring around the room, Fenris felt unsure if he should flee or stay. Justice hadn’t been what he had expected. There had been no malevolence, just power and control - a yearning that he had not thought possible from a fade spirit.

Anders shifted, the loss of body heat waking him. Honey brown eyes blinked open, gazing around the room and finally noticed Fenris, “What? Why are you sneaking off?”

“Justice woke me,” Fenris shuffled forward to perch on the edge of the bed. “We spoke.”

“Are you alright? Maker! You should...I should...I am so sorry. You could have been hurt. Are you hurt?” Anders reached for Fenris, voice frantic. Fenris caught the mage’s hands and entwined their fingers, stilling the grasping.

“We only spoke. I am unharmed. Justice was polite, well spoken, surprising,” Fenris looked at their entwined fingers.

Anders pondered that, his eyes going hazy as he listened to Justice. His head quirked, a frown flitting over his features before his face smoothed out, “I think he’s sorry he scared you. He...wanted to speak with you. Something about your lyrium and...oh, that’s just. Justice!” Anders started muttering.

“What?” Fenris watched with great interest as Anders flushed.

“He, ah, gave his blessing to...um...the kissing,” Anders flustered. “Sweet Maker, I think he’s enamored of your lyrium markings.”

“It may have been mentioned that they sing,” Fenris remarked, slowly lying back down, facing away from the mage. “Your spirit sounded sad.”

“He misses the Fade. He was never meant to be here in our world. It was an accident, a random chance that pulled him from the Fade and left him stranded here in a warden corpse.” there was a soft sigh and then Anders was moving closer to Fenris. “A powerful abomination we were fighting pulled him through the veil and left him in our world. His body was decaying, it was just a matter of time before he would have...perished. I joined with him. He gives me purpose and I give him life.”

“There were no promises made? No power offered?” Fenris found himself pressed back against Anders, one arm wrapped around him as the mage cuddled closer.

“Only the power his possession gives me. I would understand if you can’t…”

“If I cannot what, mage?”

“Allow yourself to even like me a little. I am possessed. I took a Spirit of Justice into myself without fully knowing the risks.” Anders’ arm moved off of him and the mage seemed resigned to Fenris leaving.

“You would have me go, then? Have us return to before?” Fenris wiggled, turning over so he could look Anders in the eyes. “You would forget the kindness you showed me? Would have me forget?”

“It would be better if you did,” Anders said softly.

“Mage, there is no way to forget what you have done, or the words you have spoken. I find myself unwilling to forget. I want to get to know more of you. Spend time with you.” A little smile curled up his lips. “Kiss you again.”

“Oh well,” Anders flustered, a pleased look filling his eyes. “Oh.”

“I cannot promise you a normal relationship,” Fenris started, stopping with Anders let out a giggle. At the look of outrage forming on Fenris’ face, the mage held up his hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I laughed. It’s just, I’m a possessed apostate who lives in the sewers. What kind of normal anything do you think I have?” The giggling continued, turning into a snort as the mage swallowed the laughter.

Fenris sighed, “You make a valid point. But I meant more than simply...living…”

“I know what you meant, Fenris. Believe me when I say I will never push. I will only take what you think you can offer. Even just lying here like this...it is more than I could have ever hoped for.” the words were sincere and they made Fenris frown.

“So little gives you happiness?” The elf pulled the mage closer, slipping down a hair to tuck himself against a slender chest. “This gives you happiness?”

“This is more than I had thought I would ever have again,” Anders said. “And even if we never go further, I would be happy and satisfied knowing that I am no longer alone.”

***

The light that slid over Fenris’ face came, this time, from the sun kissing the high windows that sat on one of the clinic’s walls. He shifted, body brushing against the mage’s, and that woke him up all the way. Head lifting, it was the strawberry blond hair spread over the pillow that caught his eye - the sunlight picking out the golden and copper highlights. It made him smile, made something in his chest twist.

The mage lay curled on his side, one hand pressed to his cheek as he slept deeply. Purple bruises were under his eyes despite the rest, proof that one night of sleep wouldn’t fix his exhaustion. But other than the dark spots, he looked...good. Sweet. Lying there in a ray of sun, hair nearly glowing, it was easy to forget why Fenris had ever been wary of this man.

This man who had, so far, asked for so little. Some time, some conversation, a kiss, a hug...to be held at night.

Fenris had never slept next to a person. Oh, he had been chained to the foot of Danarius’ bed. He had slept curled on the ground when they traveled, body blocking the entrance to Danarius’ tent. And when Danarius did not require him, he slept in his little cell alone on his pallet. Never wrapped in warm arms, never cradled to a chest, never held like a lover.

That twist in his chest slid lower, warmed as it hit his stomach and spread. Suddenly, Fenris wanted nothing more than to touch the golden and copper hair, lay here in this mage’s arms, and forget about Kirkwall and their friends and Danarius. Hidden in the mage’s clinic, Fenris wanted very much to have the world keep moving while they stayed here.

It was instinct that had the elf lying back down, wiggling that last inch closer to brush his lips over Anders’ - just a brief touch of lips to lips that had Anders’ eyes opening slowly, confusion in them as he blinked sleepily at Fenris.

“Morning,” Fenris rasped.

Joy spread over Anders’ face, sheer joy. It started at his lips and rolled up, eyes brightening and crinkling as the smile lit up with such happiness that Fenris’ breath caught in his throat. “You’re still here,” he whispered.

“Fool mage,” Fenris whispered back, pressing forward for another brief brush of lips. Tantalizingly chaste, tiny kisses as he learned how, as he grew more comfortable with the intimate touch. “I would not leave you after our conversation last night.”

“I wasn’t sure. I never expected you to stay,” Anders lay there in the little ray of sunlight and just smiled, something very near to peace filling his eyes. “I’ve never woken up next to somebody before. Even in the wardens, we didn’t spend the night. Too many nightmares, beds too narrow. Odd schedules…”

“I have not either. This is...this is pleasant,” Fenris decided. “I would enjoy doing this again.”

“Would you?” Something teasing entered Anders’ eyes. “Would you really.”

“Mm, Anders,” Fenris pressed a hand to the mage’s lips to silence him. “I do not wish to share this...not yet. Not with our friends.”

“I can respect that,” Anders nodded. “They’re a nosy bunch.”

“I do not wish for them to make light of something that is so...so…” Fenris felt around for the right word, the right sentiment, “I cannot explain.” He sighed.

“Something so private?” Anders sat up and stretched, scratching at his chest before starting to untangle his hair.

“Yes. Private. Is that a problem?” The elf’s eyes took in the messy hair and reached out hesitantly to smooth down the mussed strands.

“Not at all. Though I supposed that means we should get up and get moving. Wouldn’t want Hawke to barge in and find us in bed together,” The joy leached from the mage’s face.

The loss of that bright happiness made Fenris’ stomach clench and he reached out before he could second guess himself, hands cupping the mage’s face and drawing the mage down so he could press their lips together. Anders inhaled at the touch, hesitated, and then opened his lips - coaxing Fenris to follow his lead.

Long, pale fingers slid into white hair and gently tilted Fenris’ face so that their lips could fit better. The touch of the mage’s tongue on his lower lip had the elf inhaling and then mimicking, drawing out a soft moan from Anders...the noise so sudden and beautiful that Fenris did it again, swiped his tongue lightly over the bottom lip, jerking when Anders’ tongue brushed the tip of his.

The mage gave a husky laugh at Fenris’ little growl and pulled the elf to his chest and then rolled so that Fenris was on top. That made Fenris growl again and press little kisses over Anders’ face, ending in another open-mouthed kiss.

A kiss that slowed to something sweet, tender - hands sliding through hair as lips slid together till Fenris pulled back and blinked down at Anders. The mage’s lips were flushed and swollen pink, shiny from the licks - he was smiling again, something softer and more affectionate and that warm twist was back in the elf’s stomach.

“Will you come to me tonight?” Fenris asked, trying to sound confident but concerned his fear could be read by Anders.

“I will go home with you after cards,” Anders agreed.

“It is Wicked Grace,” Fenris said, a frown twisting his lips. “I was rather hoping…”

“You were hoping?” Anders grinned and leaned up to press a kiss to Fenris’ nose.

“To kiss you more,” the elf admitted.

“All night if you wish,” Anders promise. “You can kiss me all night after cards. But cards first - so the group doesn’t wonder.”

“I will probably lose all my coin,” muttered Fenris.

“Oh, so we’ll be acting normal then?” Teased the mage, slowly sitting up and giving the elf a grin. “Get off me you heavy elf, I have people to heal and you have...what will you do with yourself?”

“I shall get us food and then...perhaps...pick up the glass from my room. I would not wish you to injure yourself.” Fenris pondered.

“While you’re at it, pick up the corpses. It’s been seven years; don’t you think it’s time to redecorate?” Anders watched Fenris roll from the bed and stretch before reaching for his tunic.

The elf gave a raspy chuckle, wiggled into his tunic, and then began to strap on armor, “The corpses stay. They provide all manner of entertainment when some burglar gets brave and tries to break in.”

Anders’ response was to roll his eyes. He watched Fenris heft his sword to his back and then turn, white hair falling into the elf’s face as he took in the mage. “I will be back with breakfast. I...thank you...for last night.” Fenris said haltingly.

“No Fenris. I thank you. Now get going. I can feel the sick lining up outside.” Anders shooed the elf away, watching as the man stepped nimbly through his curtain. The mage touched his lips with a finger, wonder at last night and this morning filling him.

Deep in his mind, Justice roiled contentedly - happy the elf had stayed, happy he had spoken to Fenris, happy that they would see him later. Justice’s happiness made Anders content...relaxed. And it was with a smile that he opened the clinic doors and lit the lantern.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew finds out - or at least finds out a little bit - about Anders & Fenris
> 
> Spending the night together again...

Fenris’ knee was bouncing under the table, one hand tapping a light tattoo as he watched the door to Varric’s suite. He frowned minutely, wondering where the mage was. It was late...or it seemed late. Everybody else was here. Everybody but Anders.

“Hey Broody, stop digging holes into the table. What’s eating you?” Varric’s voice called down the table. He glanced at the dwarf in time to see a wicked smile appear, “I’m sure Blondie will be here any moment.”

Fenris’ frown grew more pronounced, “What blather are you spewing, dwarf?”

“Oh-ho, you sound worried,” Varric grin. “What do you think, Rivaini? Does Broody sound worried?”

“Mm, tell us all about it sweet thing. Rumor has it you brought our handsome healer breakfast,” Isabela leaned back in her chair and grinned, her voice teasing. “Breakfast with Anders...did you eat the food or...eat...the food?”

“Fasta Vass!” Fenris rocketed up from his chair just in time for Anders to sail into the room.

“Sorry I’m late. Some fool Carta member got stabbed. Twice. I was being paid good coin to put his innards back where they belonged,” Anders beamed at the table, blinked at Fenris, and then looked for an empty chair.

Fenris reigned in his annoyance and dropped back into his seat, glancing at the chair next to him before giving Anders a pointed look. The mage gave the group another wide smile and then, much to Varric’s amusement, sat down next to the elf.

“Blondie, we were just talking about you,” Varric started shuffling the cards.

“Oh? Hope it was something good,” Anders glanced at Fenris who pushed a mug of cider to him. The little smile the mage shot the elf was caught by the entire table. Everybody watched with interest as the cider was picked up and sipped. The cider purchased by the elf...for the mage…

“Mm, seems one of my runners saw Broody bringing you breakfast,” The cards flowed between Varric’s hands while the words flowed from his mouth. “And look at that, the broody elf bought you a drink. Boys, do I smell a romance?”

“He was thanking me for having his tunic fixed. Andraste’s toenails Varric, stop reading more into it than exists. I helped him out, he bought me some pastries. I asked him to get me cider before I showed up. He did,” Anders shrugged, fighting to not look at Fenris.

“But...you did ask him,” Varric pushed, trading a grin with Isabela.

“Mm, and you both are sitting next to each other,” Isabela crooned.

“Want me to move?” Anders asked, swallowing when Fenris’ hand pressed on his leg. “Because I can.”

Fenris growled, “We are playing cards.”

“Are we?” Merrill looked around. “Because I don’t think they’ve been...oh! You mean instead of talking about how you spent the night.”

Fenris’ venhedis was swallowed up by Anders groan and Varric and Isabela both asking “What?”

“Oh! But...I was going to stop by the clinic. Which I did, but later, because you looked too happy and I didn’t want to bother you. About that potion recipe? Anyway, I had just stuck my head out of the Darktown door when I saw Fenris leave. He looked really well-rested,” Merrill clucked her tongue and then beamed Anders. “Incidentally, thank you for the recipe. I think it’s helping.”

“Kitten, are you alright?” Isabela was gazing at Merrill with worry, momentarily ignoring the glorious news of Anders and Fenris.

“Oh yes, Izzy. It’s not for me. It’s...ah…” Now it was Merrill’s turn to look embarrassed.

Hawke gave a sigh, “I have cramps, alright? Merrill went down to get a remedy. Anybody else want to talk about my cramps?” Fire started writhing over her fingers and the entire group turned back to Anders and Fenris.

“Spent the night?” Varric started passing out cards. “This really does sound like a romance.”

Fenris was muttering under his breath, stopping when the room started to glow. Anders was gripping the table and shaking his head, finally giving a much put-upon sigh. The light grew brighter as Justice moved forward to glare at the group.

“YOU WILL CEASE IN THIS UNDIGNIFIED DISCUSSION. WHAT THE ELF DOES WITH ANDERS IS OF NO CONCERN TO YOU. YOUR WORDS ARE UNJUST.” Justice thundered.

“Oh delightful,” Hawke muttered. “Because cramps aren’t enough. Now we get upset spirit.”

“Oh,” Merrill patted at Hawke. “Justice, could you not glow so bright? Hawke has a headache.”

Justice turned vivid blue eyes to Hawke and Merrill, gazed at both women, and then lowered his voice “I APOLOGIZE, HAWKE. I CANNOT...GLOW...LESS.”

“No no, it’s alright.” Hawke waved her hand and shook her head. “I mean, why are you talking to us?”

Fenris laid a hand on Anders/Justice’s arm and squeezed. “It is fine, Justice. I am unharmed. It is just teasing.”

“THEIR WORDS ARE HURTFUL. YOU HAVE BEEN HURT ENOUGH. THEY ARE YOUR FRIENDS. THEY SHOULD NOT…” Justice inhaled as Fenris lit his brands.

“Let Anders have control,” Fenris said slowly, watching as Anders shook his head and blinked around the room with now-brown eyes.

“Did Justice just yell at the group?” Anders was looking around, worry on his face. “I am so sorry. He took the teasing as a personal affront.”

“Maker save me but I must agree with the Spirit,” Sebastian said, a pained look on his face. “We should not be picking. Fenris is a grown man and capable of making decisions.”

“Whereas I am a mage and incapable of anything but sinning,” Anders muttered.

“That is not what I meant,” Sebastian replied with great patience.

“If we aren’t playing cards then I’m going home to Donnic. I had a long day,” Aveline gave Varric a pointed look. “And you,” the pointed look sharpened and was thrown to Anders, “need to keep that thing on a leash or I will handle it.”

Anders slouched, grousing under his breath. Fenris settled back and dropped his hand to rub soothingly over the mage’s knee. He glanced around the table, noting Merrill fussing at Hawke, Isabela and Varric whispering, Sebastian offering him a smile, and Aveline now frowning at her cards. He nodded to Sebastian, waiting for the former Chantry brother to look at his hand, and then squeezed Anders’ knee gently, whispering “I am sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Anders muttered back, frowning at his own cards. “I think Izzy is hiding all the face cards in her chest again.”

Fenris snorted, “No, it is only your normal terrible hand.”

“Hah. You know, if all of my hands are going to look like this tonight I’m going to fold and just hand my money over,” Anders tried rearranging the cards. That made the hand look worse.

***

“So much for keeping the group in the dark,” Anders mumbled as he walked with Fenris to his home in Hightown. “It’s like they have nothing better to do than spy on us.”

“Mm, part of that is because they are keeping you safe, mage,” Fenris mused. “Your clinic in Darktown is well-known. It would be an easy thing for the templars to steal you away.” The thought of templars touching the mage awoke a very possessive urge in the elf.

Anders was grumbling now, grousing about how he was capable of taking care of himself. Fenris was very much afraid that he wasn't. That the only reason the mage had remained free for as long as he had was due to Hawke and Varric. And now Meredith was growing more confident, tightening her grip on the Gallows, her eyes turned to rooting out every last apostate in the city. How long could Anders hope to remain free with her in charge?

“Fenris, are you alright?” Anders was looking at him with some concern.

“No mage, I am not alright. I am thinking of how easy it would be for the templars to take you. How unprotected you are. How I…” Fenris stopped walking and glared at Anders. “You are unprotected in your clinic.”

Holding his hands up, Anders shook his head, “Not you too.”

Fenris harumphed, “Obviously, I will need to make regular visits. Check on you. I cannot allow my…” his voice slid away into the darkened streets.

Anders saw the surprise and fear in Fenris’ eyes and simply reached for the elf’s hand, “I wouldn’t object to you visiting me frequently.”

Harumphing again, glad he didn’t need to explain himself further, Fenris started walking again - leading Anders to his mansion. “You will spend the night?”

“All night,” Anders promised.

***

The mansion was as Anders remembered it - dark, corpse-filled, and dirty with an air of abandonment that Fenris cultivated carefully. But upstairs, in the room that Fenris inhabited, the mansion was cleaner. The glass had been picked up, the bed made, a blanket fastened over the hole in the ceiling...it was tidier and felt lived-in.

Anders didn’t think he had any room to judge the state of the mansion, he lived nearly in the sewers, his bedroom cramped and bed lumpy. At least Fenris had an actual mattress, he thought with some envy.

Fenris had moved past Anders and was already unbuckling his armor. His sword was placed near the bed and he was carefully piling his armor on a table. “You may put your staff near my sword. Just make sure I can reach my blade,” Fenris said as he pulled his breastplate off.

“Right,” Anders felt unaccountably nervous. He’d never spent the night twice with a person. In fact, last night had been his first night sleeping next to anybody ever...at least holding them and waking up with kisses. Swallowed down the spate of nerves, he propped his staff near the bed and unbuckled his coat, draping it over a chair back before he sat on the bed to unlace his boots.

Fenris was down to his leggings and undershirt. Glancing at Anders from under his lashes, he went to a small chest and pulled out one of the larger shirts Anders had purchased for him. “Can you...do you mind turning around?” Fenris whispered, clutching the shirt to his chest. “I wish to put this on…”

“Certainly,” Anders nodded, finally pulling off his other boot and standing, turning his back on Fenris and busying himself with pulling off his tunic and socks, folding clothing and organizing his belongs.

Fenris watched Anders for a moment and then pulled off his undershirt and leggings and pulled on the shirt. He fidgeted, feeling exposed in just the shirt and his smalls, but Hightown was warmer than Darktown and Fenris felt cooler like this. Seven years away from Tevinter had thickened his blood, making the heat felt more.

Anders turned back around and kept his eyes on Fenris’ face. “Ready for bed?”

“I am, yes. Do you...it is warm and your pants…” Fenris flushed.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” Anders started, stopping as Fenris shook his head. “If you, at any time, want me to put them back on you just have to say. I don’t mind.”

Fenris watched Anders shimmy from his pants, folding them and placing them on the stack of clothing. The mage was long, skinny, with a light dusting of blond hair on his chest and stomach. He had his back to Fenris and it allowed the elf to see the silvery scars that ran from shoulders to lower back, scars that Fenris recognized - the lash and cane, applied regularly by the amount of scarring. There were other marks - burns, bites, slashes from combat...but the most regular were the ones from the lash and cane.

Swallowing back a comment, Fenris nodded at the bed and waited for Anders to slip under the sheet before following.

They learned how to relax, listening to the house settle around them, to their breathing, to the noises of night filtering through the hole in the ceiling and the open window. They listened and relaxed by degrees until Fenris rolled to his side and reached out with one, hesitant hand to touch Anders’ chest.

“Your hair. It is soft,” his voice was filled with wonder as tanned fingers sifted through blond chest hair. “I thought, perhaps, it would be coarse.”

Anders held himself still, only turning his head so he could smile at the elf. The touches were light, slow, and exploring. “Have you never been allowed to touch?”

“Danarius took me how he wished. If I touched, it was just to arouse him or massage his back,” Fenris murmured, leaning forward to experimentally kiss one flat nipple, grin quirking up at Anders’ inhale. “He did not permit this sort of touch…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Anders soothed. “Kissing only. Nothing more.”

“Ever?” Fenris asked curiously, pressing another kiss to the now-hardened nipple “What if I wish to...try?”

“Then we’ll talk about it first,” Anders shifted restlessly, fighting to not touch the elf.

Fenris hummed and pressed himself fully against Anders’ side so they could kiss. “You continually surprise me, mage.”

“That’s my goal in life, to be surprising,” Anders gasped against Fenris’ lips, finally reaching for the elf to play with white hair, stroke over strong shoulders, toy with the shirt.

They kissed for a while, long languid kisses that drew pleasured murmurs from both men. Fenris finally settled on sprawling over Anders to press light kisses over the mage’s face and nip down the long neck. Growing bolder, he left a mark at the join of neck and shoulder, sucking and biting until the skin bruised. It made him pleased, to see the mark there. His mark on a mage he thought could be his...if he wished it…

He drifted off to sleep there, draped over the mage’s chest, face pressed against the mage’s shoulder so that each inhale filled his nose with the smells of Anders - herbs and magic and musk. Soothing, in a way, a smell that made him think of safety and acceptance.

Anders felt Fenris relax over him and sank into the bed, lulled by the warm body, the feeling of breath on his skin, the tickle of hair against his chin and ear, the knowledge that this was wanted. Justice looked out from his eyes and had Anders reach for the sheet, covering Fenris - protecting him from any prying eyes. The spirit withdrew with only one grumble at them not working, settling as Anders wrapped an arm around Fenris and started to drift to sleep.

The mage and spirit were both of the same mind when it came to Fenris. They would be there for him, they would protect him, and when the time came for them to put their goal forward...they would try to keep him from bearing any of the blame. Anders pushed aside those thoughts, centered himself on the here and now, and let himself sleep.

Justice let the mage have his rest for once - lulled into contentment by the lyrium and the elf.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danarius - and really, is there anything else to say about that?

For two weeks and change Anders and Fenris courted. Or at least that’s what Anders called it after that night at Fenris’ mansion - courting. Wooing. It was a foreign concept to Fenris - who had only known slavery and the horrors that came from that existence.

Anders felt moved to make this something special for the elf - to show him in little ways how much the mage appreciated every moment spent together: every touch, every kiss, every night sleeping pressed against somebody who wanted him there. There were little gifts given - an apple, a small cake, a jar of armor salve, and special little moments: a back rub after a long day, a hot bath after they had hiked along the Wounded Coast. Fenris didn’t know how to handle each little gift, each little moment, but found that Anders really enjoyed it when he would stop by around lunch time, when he pulled the mage close at night to hold, or when he simply listened to the mage talk. Little things that built up, grew and settled - until a relationship formed, a relationship anchored in quiet moments and a slowly-growing trust.

Two weeks and change for them to go from rabid bickering to the bickering of couples - slowly settling into arguments that they tread over and over like carpet - wearing down the nap until it was just a familiar path, a habit brought out to prod when the mood struck, when bored...arguments that used to carry bite were now smoothed over by affection, the two of them almost able to quote the other word for word.

Slowly, Anders admitted that Tevinter was, perhaps, the worst example that could ever be used for mage freedom. Slowly, Fenris acknowledged that the Circle - while great in idea, was a horrible place in practice. Both agreed that something needed to be done, though Fenris still hesitated to agree completely with mage freedom. And Anders, Anders stopped pushing so hard, instead taking any little agreement as a victory.

Justice made himself known on occasion as well, coming out to argue with Fenris - the spirit finding something of a challenge in the elf. And if he wasn’t arguing, he was asking to hear the song - begging Fenris to activate his brands for just a moment. A brief minute. He settled when Fenris glowed with Fade light, sometimes crooning to a melody only heard by spirits, sometimes gently stroking along an arm, holding a hand and telling Fenris of the Fade and what he missed. It was the closest Justice had been to home since before Kristoff, and it was an education in spirits for Fenris.

They kept all of this away from their friends - the gentle bickering, the moments of peace, the hand holding and languid kissing - the time spent lulling Justice. When out with their friends they stayed slightly apart, though always there to watch each other. Always within touching distance. Always moving with an eye on the other.

So it was of slight concern when Fenris burst into the clinic one afternoon, breathless and pale. Anders had been healing Hawke - who had decided that she didn’t need a full group with her when she went after some bandits on the Wounded Coast and had taken a nasty hit to the leg. He had been so startled by the elf barging in that he had stopped healing and instead reached for his staff. But seeing Fenris had him rushing forward - forgetting Hawke, forgetting that Merrill and Aveline stood in the clinic as well - and wrapping Fenris in his arms.

“Easy there, easy love. What is it?” Anders was nearly crooning, hands swooping over the elf’s back in soothing strokes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“She is here,” Fenris gasped, clutching at Anders. “She is here. What do I do?”

“Your sister?” Anders was leading Fenris to a cot so the elf could sit, giving Hawke an apologetic look. “Fenris, your sister?”

Fenris nodded, thrusting a note at Anders, “She is at the Hanged Man now. What do I do?”

Anders took the note and read it, nodding slightly, “She’ll be there for a few days. Says she got a room and will be near the bar. What do you want to do, Fenris? She’s your sister.”

“I...Hawke...I need to see her. Want to see her. But I am afraid,” he whispered the last words. “What if she does not remember me?”

“Let me get Hawke healed and we’ll go. Anybody else you want there?” Anders stood and, uncaring that he had an audience, smoothed a hand over Fenris’ hair. “Love?”

“Sebastian?” Fenris finally realized there were more people in the clinic and flushed, ears turning a dull red. “Ah...Sebastian.”

“I shall go find him and meet you back here,” Aveline said briskly, giving Fenris a nod. She turned her eyes to Anders and the mage was shocked to see approval there, a small smile on the normally stern woman’s lips. “Stay with Anders till I return.”

Merrill bounced on her toes, “This is so exciting! Like...seeing a sister clan! Oh Fenris, are you alright? Nervous? Is there anything I can do?”

Fenris gazed at Merrill as if not really seeing the little elf. After a moment, he shook himself and straightened, “I will be fine. I am just feeling a little nervous. It is perfectly understandable.”

“It is,” Merrill nodded. “But see, we’ll all be there. Because we’re clan and that’s what clans do!”

Fenris opened his mouth and shut it, glancing up at Anders who shrugged and gave a little smile. “That was sweet, Merrill,” Anders finally said.

“Yes well, I know how you all feel about my blood magic. But you always stick by me, so of course I’m going to stick by you!” The little elf gave both men a grin and then went to pat at Hawke. “Are you going to finish healing her?”

“Oh! Yes. I am so sorry Hawke. Let me finish fixing you up,” Anders flushed and went back to running his hands over Hawke’s leg, his magic seeping into the wound to slowly close it. “I was just…”

“It’s alright Anders,” Hawke soothed. “I know exactly how you feel.” Her eyes glanced over at Merrill and then back to Anders, a smile tilting up her lips. Anders figured that she did, indeed, have an idea of how he felt.

***

Anders held Fenris’ hand on the way to the Hanged Man, a look on his face daring any of their companions to comment. None did. None wanted to start something when Fenris’ sister was waiting for him. Every companion there knew the pain of losing family and none wanted to be the one to ruin Fenris’ moment.

It was, Anders realized as he watched Fenris purse his lips, something for each of them to envy. It made him a little envious, wishing it was his sister in the tavern. It made him think, for once, about the family he had lost when the templars came. His sister, he realized with a start, would be married now. Possibly a mother. He could have had nieces and nephews...if his magic hadn’t manifested. If his father hadn’t gone for the templars….if…

He shook his head. This was Fenris’ day and Anders wouldn’t let himself get maudlin and ruin it. He glanced over and saw Fenris watching him, one eyebrow raised, and knew he’d be explaining this later when they were alone. It made him sigh, but still offer a small smile.

The door to the Hanged Man loomed in front of them and then they were through...standing in the gloomy, odoriferous main room of the tavern. Fenris turned his head, searching the bar, and stiffened. There, in the corner nearest the bar, was a red-haired elf.

“Varania,” He whispered, wonder in his voice as he started forward. Anders moved with him, letting their hands fall apart but still standing near his elf. “Varania…” Fenris’ voice grew more sure.

“Leto, it is you,” The red-haired elf, Varania, stood. Her voice was musical, light and delicate, surprised. Her wide green eyes traced over Fenris’ face, a hesitant smile working to turn up lips set in a beautiful face. “I never thought...Leto…”

“That...that is my name. Yes. Leto,” Fenris blinked, something like recognition filling his eyes. “I remember...chasing you through a courtyard. There was a woman with hair like yours calling that name, Leto.”

“Mother,” Varania whispered, her eyes moving from Letos’ face to stare behind him, her hands twisting nervously. “Leto...I…”

“Fenris,” Hawke moved, pushing Fenris away from his sister and back. Fenris blinked, opened his mouth, and then stopped, all color draining from him.

On the stairs leading to the second floor stood an older man - regal in bearing with a neatly trimmed grey goatee and eyes the color of pewter. He slowly moved down the stairs, his power flowing before him, to stop at the bottom floor, “Fenris, my little wolf.”

“No…” exhaled Fenris. “No...no no. You led him here. You...you would...your own brother?” He gazed at Varania in disbelief.

“I am sorry, Leto. He promised to make me his apprentice if I brought him. He promised me…” She was crying, her hands held out in supplication.

“Don’t...!” Fenris reached for his sword, eyes wild.

“Now now, Fenris. She was only doing her duty as an Imperial citizen. You are my property and she found you for me.” the man swept across the room. “Do not make this worse than it needs to be.”

“Danarius,” Fenris growled, “I am not your slave. I am not your wolf.”

“It is Master. And you will always be mine,” Danarius said on a laugh. “Is this your new master, then? She seems formidable enough for a Southern heathen.”

Hawke pulled her staff from her back and glared, “Fenris has no master.”

“He is a free man,” Anders added. “So I suggest you leave.”

“Ah...I was wrong. It is you, then. I admit, I can understand your reluctance to part with such a prize. He is so uniquely talented. He was my greatest triumph and a triumph for the Imperium, really.” Danarius raked his gaze over Fenris, eyes filled with covetous lust. “He plays the part so well, does he not? I gave him that, that power - to serve me and me alone. Not some upstart mage with no idea of what he has.”

Fenris staggered as Danarius spoke, the fight draining from him. Anders saw...saw and knew what Danarius spoke of. Justice surged forward and for once, Anders allowed the spirit full sway. “THERE IS NO WAY FOR YOU TO MAKE AMENDS EXCEPT TO DIE.”

“An abomination - and one in control. How surprising.” Danarius drew back. “Fenris...come now. Nobody needs die for you. And you, I would be most interested in talking to you. Allow me Fenris back and I can promise you much power in Tevinter.”

It was as if Fenris’ greatest fears had been lifted from the Fade - his old master promising Anders everything. Anything. All he had to do was turn Fenris over. All he had to do was finally prove Fenris right. And the elf couldn’t conceive of Anders saying no...couldn’t wrap his mind around even the possibility of Anders turning down such a gift…

So when Justice yelled and charged, staff held high like a sword - when Hawke and Merrill both began to attack, when Aveline yelled her charge and Sebastian began to loose his arrows - he just stood there in shock. Stood and watched as Justice and Danarius battled, as his friends took down guards and shades, demons and abominations...as the tavern emptied of drunks and slowly filled with blood.

The shock lasted until Justice threw Danarius at his feet, pressed Anders’ staff down on the back of the magister’s neck, and gazed at Fenris with eyes filled with power. “THE INJUSTICE WAS INFLICTED UPON YOU. IT IS ONLY JUST THAT YOU MET OUT HIS PUNISHMENT.” And it hit him - Anders had said no. Justice had said no. And they had fought for him.

Rage roared through his blood...rage at his sister, at his master...at this pitiful man now cowering before him. “Fenris…” Danarius whispered.

“I am no longer your slave,” he spit, lifting the magister by the front of his robes. His brands lit and Danarius gave a single scream before slumping - his heart pulled from his chest and crushed.

Silence fell in the tavern, a breathless moment, and then sobbing filled the air. In the corner, awash with blood, stood Varania. Fenris growled and started for her, stopping with a hand landed on his shoulder...fade blue and glowing.

“Justice...she must die,” Fenris gritted out.

“SHE HAS BEEN A PAWN,” Justice explained slowly. “SPEAK TO HER AND FIND OUT WHY. ONLY THEN CAN JUSTICE BE SERVED.”

Fenris looked up into Justice’s eyes, watched as they slowly darkened to whiskey brown, and frowned. “Fenris, don’t throw away your family. She was most likely was twisted by Danarius. A pawn...used...like you. Like all slaves. Speak to her first.”

“I…” Fenris looked into his eyes, into eyes belonging to a man who had stood for him in the face of temptation, and nodded. “I will.”

“Go on then. We’ll start cleaning up this mess,” Anders gave a wry smile, kicking at Danarius’ corpse.

And Fenris simply nodded, slowly approaching Varania and holding out one hand. “Varania…” he looked into her terrified face. “I wish to speak with you.” She sniffled once, nodded, and gripped his hand, let him pull her from the corner, and lead her up the stairs to Varric’s suite - the dwarf standing at the top of the stairs with Bianca out.

Anders met Varric’s eyes as Fenris escorted Varania into the dwarf’s rooms. Varric gave a smile and nodded, turned, and followed Fenris. Assured that his lover wouldn’t be alone, Anders turned back to the mess and started helping Hawke and the other pick up the debris.

There was, he thought as he kicked Danarius’ corpse again, both much to celebrate...and much to mourn…


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris explains how he got his markings...
> 
> Bathing and talking...
> 
> "My Mage."

“She said I chose the marks,” The group was sitting around Varric’s table drinking, really the only activity worth doing after killing a magister and their entourage and then cleaning up that much blood and gore. “She said I did it to free Mother and her.”

Anders laid a hand over one of Fenris’ and squeezed, “Justice would say those were noble reasons.”

Fenris’ head shook, his hair falling into his eyes, “She said I did it for power, too. That the boon was just an added bonus. That they would be freed and I would gain power as a slave, a top position, a place of honor and worth. She said...she…” his voice cracked.

“Fenris,” Anders started, stopping when Fenris shook his head again.

“No Mage, you don’t understand. I allowed a magister to do this to me because I was tempted. Because he offered me power and I took the bargain. How can I talk about mages the way I do when I am no better?” Fenris squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his hand away. “How can you even stand to sit near me?”

“You torture yourself needlessly, Fenris,” Sebastian said, leaning forward. “Your temptation was for a better life. Not for power to rule or corrupt.”

“Oh yes, because mages don’t make deals just to stay alive. Just to become power-hungry magisters,” Anders muttered, bitterness in his words.

Sebastian opened his mouth and Hawke glared at him until he shut it with a snap. She turned to look at Anders, her eyes widening, “Perhaps Fenris should go home. Get some rest?”

Anders slowly reached for Fenris, taking his hand, “Come on, Fenris. I’ll walk you home.”

The group watched as he stood, shoulders hunched and moving like an old man. His eyes stayed down on his feet, hair hiding his face. Merrill twitched next to Hawke and then stood, rushing around to the other elf. “Oh...Fenris…”

“Merrill…” Fenris stopped shuffling, eyes peering at the little elf in confusion.

“Whatever happened in the past, Lethallin, you are still you now. And you now would not make that deal. You have done so much good with Hawke. Don’t let the past creep up to strangle you,” Her hand hovered over his shoulder before slowly lowering. “I know of what I speak. Don’t let the past ruin the gifts of today.”

She pulled away and found her hand caught by Fenris, “Merrill...thank you.”

The little Dalish perked up a bit and pulled away again, gliding back across the room to lean against Hawke. Anders gazed around the room one more time, nodded, and squeezed Fenris’ hand. “Come on love, how about a hot bath? I’ll draw you one and then we’ll talk.”

Fenris found that he didn’t have the energy to say yes or no. He simply allowed Anders...his mage...to lead him from the Hanged Man and across town to home. The only real home he’d ever had…

***

The tub was filled with steaming water when Fenris slowly slunk into the bathing chamber. Anders was busy sprinkling some sort of bath salts into the water, the soothing smells of lavender filling the air. The mage glanced over to the elf and then returned to sprinkling in the bath salts. “Are you doing ok, Fenris?”

“I am still a little in shock,” Fenris admitted. “I had never expected you to actually help. And when he offered you such power...I thought for sure I would be…” he cleared his throat, “I am insulting you.”

“Yes you are,” Anders replied mildly, “But I understand why.”

The calm response made Fenris shuffle, “Is that, ah, for me or…”

“It is. I thought, I mean, I was hoping you’d enjoy it if I washed your back. This mansion, as beat up as it is, is graced with an amazing bathing room,” The mage gestured at the over-sized tub.

“Tevinters love to bathe,” Fenris offers a half-smile.

“Obviously, if you wish some time alone…” Anders said, turning to head out of the room, stopping when Fenris wrapped a hand around his wrist. “Or you don’t feel comfortable with the thought of me here...”

“Stay. I trust you to share a bath.” Fenris flushed, wetting his lips. “Just don’t...don’t stare.”

“I won’t,” Anders promised. “Like I said, I’ll wash your back.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Fenris hazarded. “I think.”

The mage gave a light laugh and turned around to start undressing. A moment of watching Anders’ fingers attack buckles and Fenris started pulling off his armor. Anders kept his back turned until Fenris was settled in the bath, the elf nearly purring at the heated, scented water. Only when Fenris was settled did Anders turn and climb into the tub, moving back so that there was still a little space between himself and Fenris.

The warm water was soothing, relaxing, and Fenris found himself slowly gravitating back to lean against Anders, cuddling against the mage’s chest. “I was afraid,” he admitted.

“That Danarius would take you?” Anders hesitated before gently wrapping his arms around the elf.

“That he would tell the group. That they would know that I am not as they think,” Fenris finished.

Anders thought about that, the words and Fenris’ fears, and then tightened his arms a hair, “What? A broody, grouchy elf who swings a ridiculously large sword like it’s a cat toy? A cranky pain in the ass who drinks too much red wine and has an affinity for decaying corpses and mushrooms?”

That made Fenris chuckle, “I see. And is this how you see me, then?”

“I see a handsome man who I have underestimated and ignored, who was tormented in ways I can’t begin to imagine, who has bravely tried to become free even though he’s never known what it meant to be free. Who is a lot like me and yet so much stronger than I could ever hope to be,” Anders pressed his face to Fenris’ hair, embarrassment making him cough.

“Anders…” Fenris was nearly struck dumb by the words spoken by the mage. His mage, he realized. His because the moment Anders and Justice had said no to Danarius, the moment they had stood for him instead of taking the power offered, Fenris knew they could be nothing but his mage, his possessed troublesome apostate who blathered about mage freedom, fed stray cats, and worked himself too hard. A mage...a man...who was also the first to see past Fenris’ exterior, to not turn that knowledge into a game, a torture, a cause for bullying.

“Mm?” Anders rubbed his cheek against Fenris’ hair and sighed softly. “I should not feel these things. It’s...it’s not right. It could only lead to heartache and ruin. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You will not. You are a good man, Anders.” Fenris finally said, patting at the mage’s hands. “Now, you promised me a back washing. I think I would enjoy that.”

“Oh well, you don’t have to ask me twice,” Anders laughed, pulled away and reaching for the soap and the flannel. He hesitated and then pressed one kiss to Fenris’ shoulder, the elf shivering at the press of lips. “Sorry…”

“I know you do not wish to push me on...intimacy...but there is much that can be done with just lips, Anders,” Fenris teased, the words making Anders flush, skin prickle. “Perhaps, soon, I would like to see how far I can push you with just my lips.”

“Sweet Maker,” Anders breathed out, working to focus on soaping the flannel and not on his sudden erection. “Don’t say things like that when we’re naked. I’m trying to be all noble here.”

The want in Anders’ voice made the elf smile, “Just because I am iffy about you touching my body does not mean I do not wish to touch yours. Perhaps I wish to claim you as my own. Would you deny me that?”

“Bloody void,” whimpered Anders. “Can we just bathe and then go rest?”

Fenris hummed to himself, pleased with Anders’ response, his acquiescence to Fenris’ claim, and the fact that the mage seemed happy to allow Fenris the power to set the speed, set the tone...take the control.

Anders settled as Fenris stayed quiet, applying himself to washing the elf’s back so that he could calm his erection, calm the surge of want. He did not wish to push Fenris into anything the elf wasn’t ready for and the words spoken...they had definitely made Anders want. The thought of Fenris wanting him...wanting to claim him...made him a little giddy.

He had just finished rinsing Fenris’ back when the elf turned partially around to look Anders in the eye, that little smile still curling up his lips, “Would you have problems if I took control?”

“Of what?” Anders blinked.

“Of you,” Fenris asked candidly. “While we are alone.”

Anders’ mind ground to halt. Justice perked up, using Anders’ sudden mental freeze to push forward and look at Fenris. “YOU WOULD HAVE HIM UNDER YOUR CONTROL?”

“Not to hurt,” Fenris was quick to respond.

“BUT TO MAKE YOU FEEL SAFE,” Justice answered, frowning as Anders started to wrestle control back.

“I would not hurt him, Justice,” Fenris promised. “I swear it.”

Justice turned thoughtful, his eyes widening as if Anders was whispering into his ear, “FINE. I WILL ALLOW IT PROVIDED YOU DO NOT STOP HIM FROM HIS TASK, FROM HIS GOAL.”

Fenris stared into those fade-blue eyes and thought about the spirit’s words. There was something there, something in Anders’ fear and the spirit’s request that made his blood run a little cold. But the man...the spirit...they had stood for Fenris in the face of temptation, in the face of power offered. Whatever they did, whatever their goals for the mages, it would be trivial compared to what they had done for Fenris.

“I will stand by Anders no matter what fool plan you force him into.” Fenris said slowly.

“EVEN IF IT IS TO FREE THE MAGES? EVEN IF IT IS, AT ITS HEART, AN ACT OF VENGEANCE?” Justice tilted his head.

“I will stand by him,” Fenris repeated, firmly, “Now let him have control.”

The blue faded into whiskey brown and Anders inhaled and exhaled slowly, “You shouldn’t have promised that.”

“You are mine, Anders. I could promise nothing less,” Fenris hesitated and then pressed a soft kiss to his mage’s lips. A brief brush before he settled back. “But you did not answer my question.”

“Ah. About the control? I...would be alright...in the bedroom, I suppose. I have problems with, um, being blindfolded and tied...and kicking…” Anders looked nervous.

“I only meant as the person who set the speed, not anything else. I do not, cannot, do anything that requires those things either,” Fenris exhaled.

Fenris and Anders shared a look filled with understanding. No more words were needed to spell out why, and both knew where the lines would be laid when it came to intimacy. A moment and then Anders reached for Fenris, hands making small grasping movements. “I need…”

And that was it, that was all he had to say for Fenris to move back into his arms. Fenris needed acceptance and compassion. Anders needed touch and understanding. With each gentle touch, each question asked, each careful movement - both settled, lulled into relaxing by receiving what each needed most.

They stayed there in the tub, wrapped up and snuggled together, until the water cooled. Then, they slowly climbed out and dried off. For the first time, Fenris didn’t ask Anders to turn around - watching instead as his mage dried off and then moved to dry his back. Anders’ eyes skipped over Fenris’ chest and thighs - noting but not staring, seeing but not commenting, acceptance shown in a quick smile, a quick kiss to one cheek, and the towel being rubbed over a muscular back.

And for once, Fenris didn’t immediately dress but simply gathered his clothing and headed back to the bedroom to fold clothing and tidy armor. He noted that Anders did the same thing - organizing his clothes and settling his mage gear, till both of them moved to the bed and crawled in to cuddle.

Later...hours later...after dozing quietly in the circle of Anders’ arms, Fenris woke. It wasn’t a noise or intruder but the sudden realization that he had finally chosen something in his life. He wasn’t drifting. He wasn’t simply settling. He had chosen Anders and that made the mage something truly special. Something beyond a bedmate or friend.

Fenris had killed his master and gained his freedom and in doing so, allowed himself to make a choice. And his choice was to be with this mage - this man.

The decision finalized and acknowledged, Fenris settled back down to sleep, lulled into dreams by the quiet breathing of the man beside him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris meets Fran...
> 
> Fran sets a price for her help - a price Anders has to pay. Will Fenris go along or will this all end in bloodshed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean - as if I don't always just bludgeon canon with a broom...BEHOLD! I am bludgeoning it some more.
> 
> Bah...I refuse to write unhappy.

The sun had risen enough to shine through the windows in the bedroom when Fenris stirred again. Anders was sprawled on his back, head tilted away from Fenris, still fast asleep. It allowed Fenris time to fully examine Anders, to look over his body without fear of embarrassment.

His mage was long and lean and obviously not eating as well as he should be. Despite being too-thin, his arms, shoulders, and legs were stilled toned, still muscled. He was covered in fine, pale blond hair - thicker on his chest and sporadic over his stomach. Further down, the hair darkened to a reddish honey and surrounded his thick cock - half-hard and leaning heavily against one freckled thigh.

Fenris wet his lips, could feel the heat tinging his ears. He shouldn’t be looking...shouldn’t want. But he did. He wanted to touch, to hear Anders make pleased noises, wanted to pleasure and taste and show Anders that he was wanted, desired...cared for.

The mage was so gentle with him, so concerned about pushing. He had said no to Fenris twice and it was that no that had the elf hesitating again. There was a boundary there he did not wish to cross. The ability to say no - to have that respected...it was something new, something amazing, something to be cherished. For both of them.

Fenris finally settled on curling up against Anders’ side and petting his chest hair. It was fascinating - a mix of wiry and soft, springy and curly and fluffy under his hand. He had never been allowed to touch, to explore, to really look at another body. So Anders’ willingness to let Fenris touch and explore was a gift.

Just another one given to him by this man.

Anders stirred, an arm curling around Fenris and squeezing the elf against his side. Fenris felt the brush of lips over his hair a moment before Anders spoke. “Morning,” voice still rough with sleep, “this is a wonderful way to wake up.”

“I am sorry I bothered you,” Fenris squirmed a little and settled again, restless from the feeling of a hand at his waist, at the press of skin against his skin.

“Trust me, bother is the wrong word to use here,” Anders tugged gently and Fenris found himself wiggling on top of the mage, covering him like a blanket. “Better,” the mage sighed happily.

Sprawled over Anders’ chest, Fenris felt a moment of nervousness and then amusement as the mage seemed to full-body purr. “You seem to enjoy having me act as a blanket,” Fenris observed, pressing his face against the mage’s neck.

“I like knowing you’re here with me - the closeness and cuddling,” Anders admitted. “I don’t feel alone.”

“Do you feel lonely often?” Fenris pressed a kiss to Anders’ neck and smiled when the mage inhaled. He tried another kiss and then a small bite, pleased when Anders murmured happily.

“I, ah...Fenris. You should not do that,” Anders whimpered, hands digging into the sheets. “I have been alone for a while...sweet Maker, you will kill me with the kisses.”

Fenris gave a husky laugh and slid from Anders’ chest. A shy smile and he returned to petting Anders’ chest hair. “I, too, have been alone. I thought I prefered it. That being alone meant I would not be harassed, hounded, embarrassed...but you changed that.”

“Fenris,” Anders pressed his hand over Fenris’, “I’m glad. I wish...I wish this had happened sooner.”

“I do as well,” Fenris admitted. “But we can be together now.”

“I…” Anders closed his eyes and exhaled. “Fenris. You have to understand...Justice and I, we are here for a purpose - to free the mages. I can’t...I won’t hurt you. It would better if I…”

“No mage, I was serious last night. No matter what you and Justice have planned. No matter what you do, I will not leave you. I chose you. It is...Mage, I have never had the freedom to make a choice. Do you understand?” Fenris gently turned Anders’ face to his so they could be eye to eye. “I am choosing to be with you, a mage. A mage who is possessed, who fights for other mages, who had a chance to gain power with a magister and turned it down. You work tirelessly for the poor, you treat me with kindness...you are a mage but more.”

“Fenris...I don’t deserve this…” Anders looked miserable. “I don’t.”

“You do. And I would have you here with me. I know I do not have much but...please Anders. I wish to try with you.” Fenris stroked a hand over Anders’ cheek and tried for a smile. “Stay with me. Be with me. Allow me time to get to know you.”

Anders looked into green eyes filled with sincerity and warmth and caved, nodding and offering a shy smile, “Alright, Fenris. Alright.”

“You will be healing today, yes?” Fenris sat up, for once not hiding from Anders’ eyes. It pleased him that the mage kept his gaze on Fenris’ face. “Anders?”

“Mm? Oh, yes. Healing. All day.” Anders nodded, his smile quirking higher.

“Then I shall be by to get you this evening. Will that be alright?” Fenris stood and went to find clothing. “I shall purchase some food stuff. I have wine and more wine. But no actual food.” He looked embarrassed by that.

“I promise to be in the clinic when you show up tonight,” Anders said with a nod.

“You had best be. I would hate to show up and find you missing,” Fenris gave Anders a stern look. For his part, the mage held up his hands and nodded. “I shall go get us some breakfast. You should get dressed.”

Anders watched the elf bustle from the room and took a moment to simply gaze around and organize his thoughts. Fenris wanted him here….seemed to be determined to try a relationship. It was, the mage thought, baffling and sweet.

***

Anders healed all day - the line into the clinic full but not too crazy. There was a cave-in in one of the Darktown side tunnels, there was a skirmish between two bandit groups, a child fell down an old mine shaft, a woman went into labor...typical patients seen on a typical day. Anders healed them all with a smile, thoughts centered on the conversation from the morning and anticipation of Fenris showing up.

While Anders healed, Fenris shopped for food. He bought up pastries and meats, cheese and bread, a jug of cider and meat pies….food for dinner, food for breakfast...tidbits for them to eat. Then he took it all home and cleaned the larder - embarrassed to find it covered in dust and dirt and filled with rotten food.

A bath, a quick change of clothing, and he headed down to the clinic and his mage. As he walked, he watched the streets change from the sparkling of Hightown to the dust and soot in Lowtown and finally, the stench of Darktown. His mage lived in the bowels of the city, in the gloom and dank, worked tirelessly...and could have given it all up for wealth and position. But hadn’t.

Those thoughts kept circling in Fenris’ mind as he stepped into the clinic and found Anders in discussion with an older woman - dark and intimidating and well-dressed.

“Fenris,” Anders perked up. “Fran, this is Fenris.”

“Ah, the tunics,” The woman’s voice was melodious, mysterious...and filled with warmth. “Ser, you look very handsome in my handiwork.”

Fenris shuffled and fidgeted before offering the woman a short bow, “You are the one who fixed my clothing?”

“Call me Fran, dear boy. Now let me get a look at you,” Fran circled Fenris, dark eyes twinkling. When she was once again facing the elf, she grinned, “So worried, so skittish. You have nothing to fear, my fine elf. Not from me and and most certainly not from your mage. Ah, but he is yours now, isn’t he? How interesting. Anders, my dear, he must be told or I will not help. It is the price for my aid. Tell him, save many. Keep secrets, and the loss of innocents will be staggering.”

“What?” Fenris was gazing at Anders, brow furrowed, “What does she mean, Anders?”

“And you, my handsome one, you will listen - yes? You who have been touched by so much injustice,” Her voice echoed on the word injustice, her eyes growing piercing, “You will listen and remember your words. His future rests in your hands, in the hands of a former slave who freed himself. Remember that.”

“Who are you?” Fenris could feel his fear growing, his anger awakening. The surge in emotions made his brands light.

Fran simply smiled. “It was a delight to meet you. Anders, my dear, I suppose this is good bye then?”

Anders gave a sad smile. “I will miss you.”

“Oh, I’ll show up I’m sure. I always do - when the need grows too great. I must fly, yes. Fly and start anew.” Fran gave a laugh and swept from the clinic leaving the two men staring at each other.

“So…who was that?” Fenris started, stopping when he saw Anders’ face. “And what do you have to tell me?” The question was so simply asked, no condemnation. No anger. Just curiosity.

“Fenris…” Anders stood and started pacing. “You know I’ve been fighting for mage rights. I’ve written letters, written a manifesto, tried a mage underground...I’ve had Hawke speak to the Grand Cleric, I’ve had Hawke speak to the Knight-Captain...I’ve tried everything I could think of.” He rubbed his suddenly damp hands on his coat, clenched the fabric. “I...we...we cannot let this continue.”

“What have you done, Anders?” Fenris gazed at him with eyes filled with fear. “What are you planning?”

“The Chantry...it must be destroyed,” the words were whispered. “I just need a sign that all hope of talks is gone and…”

“And?” Fenris had moved to Anders, hands reaching out to grip Anders’ “And then?”

“I lied to Hawke,” Anders licked at his lips, eyes averted. “I told her the ingredients were for a potion to separate me from Justice. It’s...more than that. It’s a powder that will explode with the touch of my magic.” Anders went limp.

Fenris gazed at him, hands trembling over the mage’s. “You would, literally, destroy the Chantry? The loss of life would be…”

“Fran...Fran is going to help. She can minimize...has promised me aid…” Anders drew back, curling in on himself. “I expect Hawke to…”

Understanding dawned, “A true separation would require your death.”

“It would be the only Just response,” Anders hunched in more. “Justice is…”

“I would never let her…” Fenris exhaled forcefully. “I would never let her kill you.”

“Because you would do it for her?” Anders felt his heart crack a little, the pain sudden. He hadn’t understood how much he had come to care for the elf.

“You would start a war...would destroy Hightown...for the mages?” Fenris was nearly begging Anders, desperate to understand.

“For the right to freedom. To show the world that the Chantry stands for oppression. For slavery. For genocide. To incite change. My life is nothing, means nothing. I knew that when I joined with Justice. We...we will force change because compromise will not work. Because the ones in charge refuse to see the corruption,” Blue splintered over Anders’s skin, his voice deepening, “WE WILL RIGHT THE WRONGS. THE GRAND CLERIC SEES JUSTICE IN INACTION. BUT ALL SHE BRINGS IS IMBALANCE AND INJUSTICE. WE WILL SPUR THE CHANGE. AND IF CHANGE DEMANDS OUR LIVES, THEN SO BE IT.”

“I just found you, “Fenris whispered. “You...you saved me.”

“YOU WILL BE OUR ONLY REGRET.” Justice closed his eyes and it was Anders who looked at him, Anders’ eyes that bled tears and regret and sadness. “Our only request is that you don’t kill us now. Please, Fenris. Please don’t make me fight you.”

“Foolish, foolish mage,” whispered Fenris. “I believe I said I would not leave you. I meant it.”

“Why?” Anders’ knees gave out and Fenris caught him, helped him to sit on a cot. “Why?”

Fenris didn’t answer, simply wrapped his arms around Anders and held the shaking mage. Why indeed, he thought wryly. To go from being slave to a magister to falling in love with a mage who would change the very world - not for power or wealth but for freedom.

They sat there like that till the shaking subsided, till Anders was limp and no longer sniffling. Fenris gave a sigh and then a brief laugh, the sound making Anders blink at him in shock. “Well,” Fenris said on a quiet snort, “It’s not like Kirkwall doesn’t deserve it. How many ruins have we found in the city filled with demons and blood mages?”

The question made Anders’ lips twitch, “There are an awful lot of Tevinter relics are here as well.”

“Think you can take out Danarius’ old mansion?”

“You should move your things to the clinic or the basement. Fran said she was going to keep Darktown secure,” Anders sounded thoughtful.

“How?” Fenris stroked a hand over Anders’ hair.

“I asked and she just hummed and told me to focus on what needed to be done,” Anders purred softly and nuzzled closer to Fenris. “If you stay with me, we’ll be hunted. I’ll never be safe.”

“Please,” Fenris sat up and shook Anders lightly. “As if I don’t understand how to live on the run.”

“But you’re free now,” Anders pointed out.

“And able to make up my mind. Come Anders, come home with me. Let us eat and rest.” Fenris pulled Anders up. “Come be with me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris asks about Anders' scars...
> 
> Smut happens...smut and talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Felixbug, again, for reading through the smutty parts of this chapter.

Anders was subdued on the way back to Hightown, eyes down and fingers twisting in his coat. It was an interesting role reversal, Fenris being the one to usher them along and coax the mage into the house, into the bedroom - to sit down, to have a glass of wine.

It was as if Fenris’ words had fallen on deaf ears. The mage, it seemed, still expected to be sent away or worse - killed. Fenris left Anders in the chair upstairs and went to get food, pondering how best to pull the mage from his melancholy.

Certainly, his plan was drastic. Terrifying. Violent and desperate. But if what Anders had said was true, if he had truly tried all other methods of change - then...then what choice did he have?

It hit Fenris that he was alright with this choice simply because he was starting to fall in love with the mage. The memory of that poor woman who turned abomination filled his mind, her terrified face, her last gasps being the names of the boys they had met, the desperation in the air as she had sliced her arms...the knowledge that she had only come to Kirkwall to save orphans from the Blight and had not found help but instead had been locked away and the children forgotten.

He remembered the sad eyes of the de Launcet boy - his naivete, his wonder at the world around him. Anders had said he probably hadn’t been out of the Circle since a boy. Never been kissed. Never touched. Desperate enough to experience all that he’d missed that he’d escaped and lied about being a maleficar...desperate enough to become a fugitive with no idea of how to actually hide or take care of himself.

And those markings Fenris had seen on Anders’ back...that he had not asked about. They all couldn’t have been from his time in the Wardens. Were mages actually beat so badly they scarred worse than most slaves? And Anders was a healer...he should have been able to heal himself without scarring. That he hadn’t spoke of torture…

Fenris wrestled with his thoughts - the things he had seen in Tevinter versus the things he had seen in Kirkwall - and wondered who was right. What was right. Mages could do so much evil and yet could be capable of so much good. Like...any man, Fenris supposed...scowling a bit at the thought.

Anders was still in the chair when Fenris made it upstairs with a tray of food. The glass of wine was untouched on the table and the mage was hunched and shivering. Fenris placed the tray down and then went to the mage, took his hand, and squeezed.

“Anders. I have a question.” Fenris tugged lightly on his hand. “Please?”

“Yes?” Anders glanced up and then sat back. “What is it?”

“Your back is scarred. Why?” Fenris watched Anders pale a bit and look away. “I need to understand. Help me understand. You have listened to me, respected me, helped me. Please...let me help you.”

Anders sighed and stood, stepping away from Fenris and slowly unbuckling his coat. The coat was draped over the chair, and then his tunic, leaving him in just his trousers. He turned, showing Fenris the long line of his scarred back - the skin ridged and broken by what looked like whip marks, cane marks, and the scars of battle. Slowly, gently, Fenris touched the mage’s shoulder.

“I was old when I came to the Circle. Twelve. I remembered by family, my parents...my freedom. Being locked up, it was a torture to me. As I grew older, I found ways to run - to escape. I would run, they would find me, drag me back, and punish me.” Anders’ voice was quiet, pained.

“How did they find you?” Fenris moved to stand in front of Anders, saw how pale the mage looked, and gently took his hand and led him to the bed. Carefully pushed him back and then started pulling off his armor.

“My phylactery. Such hypocrisy. Blood magic is evil - unless it’s being used to track a mage. They bleed every mage brought to the circle, place a sample of our blood in special, magically treated vials, and then use them to track us.” Anders’ eyes followed Fenris’ fingers as he unbuckled his armor. He took a shaky breath when Fenris moved to cuddle him.

“They use blood magic?” Fenris frowned. “Every mage has one of these vials?”

“In case we run - so they can find us.” Anders explained wearily. “I would run and they would pull out my phylactery and chase me down and drag me. back. I’ve been beaten, whipped, denied healing, starved...they tried everything. And then, the put me in solitary.”

“Solitary...how long?” Fenris thought of a small room with no windows, no light, just a door, and shuddered. When Anders whispered “a year,” his skin went cold. A year...a year in solitary. No wonder he fought so hard, Fenris thought. No wonder he wanted change…

“I...did not…” Fenris actually stuttered. “Anders…”

“I don’t want sympathy. It’s not the rapes, the beatings, the solitary...it’s more than that. It’s that we’re locked away simply for being born. That we’re at the mercy of people who teach us that we are sins upon the world. That we are taught to fear who we are, what we are.” Anders met Fenris’ gaze and gave a sad smile. “No child should be told they are a sin. No child should feel like their life is a curse.”

“But Tevinter…” Fenris sighed.

“Is evil and wrong. I don’t want a Tevinter. I just want the right to live without being locked away. I believe we should be offering mages education and help, teaching them how to control their abilities and then allowing them to be members of society. Not just weapons pulled out and then put away.” Anders sniffled and wiped away a tear. “The Knight-Captain actually told Hawke that mages aren’t people like everybody else. That we’re just weapons...that we’re…”

“He was wrong,” Fenris said. “I...I was a weapon. Only a thing for my Master. Nobody is...nobody should ever be…I don’t think mages should have a free pass, but they shouldn’t be beaten and tortured. They shouldn’t be locked away and raped.”

“Thank you,” Anders whispered.

Fenris leaned forward and laid his lips against Anders’, tender and sweet and loving. Accepting.

When they broke apart, Anders pulled Fenris closer and whispered against his hair, “We would tear down the Imperium, see slavery ended, right the wrongs…”

“Mage,” Fenris gave an amused huff, “You have enough on your plate as it is.”

“Why?” Anders nuzzled against Fenris. “Why?”

“Because you matter to me, Anders. Because you were the first to accept me completely. Because you have been nothing but kind and gentle. Because you stood for me,” Fenris smiled.

“Well then, I won’t argue with you.” Anders gave a weak chuckle. “Can I...touch you?”

“Touch me?” Fenris pulled away, brow furrowed.

“Feel your skin...against mine. Just hold you. Please?”

“Yes. I can do that, yes.” Fenris pulled away to undress, smiling slightly when Anders wiggled out of his pants.

Fenris wasn’t surprised when Anders tugged him on top of him, he just gave a laugh and nuzzled under Anders’ chin. “Silly mage,” he whispered against warm skin.

“You say that like I shouldn’t be shocked. You hate mages,” Anders pointed out.

“Mm, I have my reasons,” Fenris admitted. “But you hate slavers and slavery.”

“I do,” Anders agreed, shivering when Fenris nibbled at his neck.

“And you do not wish for another Tevinter,” Fenris smiled when Anders shook his head.

“No, no I don’t. I just want…”

“You want to live,” Fenris finished for him, pressing his lips to the mage’s, gently licking until those lips parted and he could taste and nibble at tender skin.

The sweep of Anders’ hand down his back had Fenris stiffening briefly and then relaxing, sinking into the kiss. The drag of fingers over his spine made him squirm and gasp, blink down at Anders.

“Is this ok?” Anders asked, worry in his eyes.

“Feels good,” Fenris wiggled again and arched a little as the mage’s long fingers kneaded into muscle. “let me...let taste you?”

“Taste me...Fenris, you don’t have to…” Anders groaned as the elf began to kiss down his chest, rubbing his cheek over chest hair and licking lightly at his nipple.

“Want to,” Fenris whispered against his navel, pressing kisses to Anders’ thighs. He smiled up at the mage and then dipped his head, drew his tongue over the broad head of Anders’ arousal, and t took the mage into his mouth.

Anders groaned, moaned...whimpered and whispered his name while gripping at the sheets, his hair...anything but Fenris’ head. He tried, desperately, to not thrust, to not move...to barely breathe...as Fenris’ warm, wet mouth slowly unraveled him, as the pleasure coiled tighter, higher, till his toes were clenched and his muscles were shaking.

A whispered “it’s ok. I want you to,” made Anders gasp in desperation, fingers finally sliding into white hair to tug lightly as his back arched up and he shattered, came apart in bliss and Fenris hummed and purred at the little, sharp wheezing gasps of pleasure Anders made as he crested.

His arms were full of elf when Anders came down from the high, a very pleased, preening elf who pressed kitten kisses over the mage’s face and murmured about how beautiful his mage was, how glorious the sounds had been. It made Anders flush and pull Fenris into a biting, licking, open-mouthed kiss.

“That was amazing,” Anders whispered.

Fenris preened a little more, “I wanted to, more than anything, make you writhe with pleasure.”

“I believe you met that goal,” Anders said with a grin. “Can I?”

“Can you?” Fenris’ brow furrowed. “What?”

“Pleasure you?” Long fingers brushed over Fenris’ cheek. “I can use just my fingers...or my mouth?”

“You...would…” Fenris actually looked perplexed. “I have never…Danarius did not…”

“You can say no,” Anders soothed. “We can just cuddle.”

“I trust you,” Fenris said softly. “I...we can try fingers first? No...not...just outside…”

“I swear, you say stop and we stop,” Anders promised, laying Fenris back smiling down into his face. “I promise.”

“I trust you,” Fenris said again, working to relax. “I trust you.”

Sensitive fingers, though Fenris, sensitive and soft and gentle - as they stroked over his strong stomach and thighs, as they dragged slowly up higher to press over his mound and then down...over slippery folds till pleasure blossomed and made his hips jerk. Stroking circles and then pressing, teasing, rubbing gently and then harder till Fenris’ hips wouldn’t stay still, couldn’t...his breath ragged as everything tightened and his skin felt stretched and hot, his hands reaching up to grip at Anders’ shoulders.

The pleasure stayed there, coiling tighter, till Fenris was digging his heels into the bed and gasping the word please over and over- unsure where to take it, unsure of how to crest over.

“May I taste you?” Anders slid his lips over Fenris’ jaw. “Would you be alright with that?”

Fenris inhaled shakily and then whispered “yes...please...just…”

“I will, shh,” Anders promised and slid down Fenris’ body - careful and slow, spread his thighs wider and paused...waiting for Fenris to nod...and then slid his tongue slowly, so slowly, up the center of Fenris and for a moment, the elf actually thought he would come out of his skin from the sensation. The maddening, pleasurable sensation of licking and then sucking...his fingers gripping and then tightening in blond hair.

It was the raking of teeth followed by swirling tongue that tipped him over, the pleasure exploding up and out, curling over his body and making him nearly scream as everything pulsed. Toes curled, hips arched, fingers tightly gripping hair, Fenris felt himself go over and was gratified that Anders’ was there with him, to hold him and guide him back with soft whispers and kisses and the feeling of arms holding him tightly.

***

“Thank you,” Fenris gave Anders a shy smile while placing the tray of food on the bed. He sat across from his mage and picked up a slice of cheese, nibbling at the food. “You should eat.”

“What are you thanking me for? And this looks good, by the way. Oh, berries!” Anders popped a blueberry into his mouth and hummed in pleasure.

“For allowing me to pleasure you,” Fenris felt his ears heat and he hunched forward a bit, reaching for an apple slice. “And for reciprocating.”

“I should be thanking you,” Anders bit into some bread. “The trust you have in me. It’s...I mean to say, I am honored that you trust me.”

“I do,” Fenris nodded, glancing at his mage. “You are my mage...my lover. Of course I trust you.”

“Even though I’m going to blow up the Chantry?” Anders took another bite of bread and then grabbed more blueberries.

“At least you told me,” Fenris said dryly. “As opposed to just making the blasted thing explode and then dying. Now I can stop Hawke from killing you...though…”

“Though?” Anders glanced at Fenris.

“She may not wish to kill you. She loves you and is rather anti-Chantry herself,” Fenris looked thoughtful. “Might be peeved that you blew up a city she just put back together, though.”

“To be fair, this is a horrible place,” Anders pointed out.

“Created by terrible people, namely the Imperium,” Fenris added.

They both looked at each other and shook their heads, Anders giving a slight giggle. “She’s going to probably punch me at the very least.”

“It’s Aveline we have to worry about,” Fenris said, frowning.

“Oh...yes…” Anders looked thoughtful. “And Sebastian.”

“I will handle Sebastian,” Fenris said.

“He’s going to be unreasonable. He’s always unreasonable. He’ll want to cart me off to Starkhaven or something. Underneath that Andraste belt buckle is anger management issues,” Anders said before shoving half a piece of cheese in his mouth.

“I will handle him,” Fenris said again.

“By doing what? Sitting on him?” Anders waved a piece of sausage at Fenris. “He’s going to want my head.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, “I will handle him. Trust me.”

“I..I do! I’m just...I…” Anders blinked.

“It is done, mage.” Fenris sighed. “You will have to live with the guilt.”

Anders sobered and nodded, “I live with a lot of regrets, Fenris. A lot of them. The guilt…”

“Anders,” Fenris reached for the mage’s hand and squeezed it. “You will not be alone. I swear it.”

The feeling of the elf’s hand squeezing his, the acceptance in the sorrowful eyes, the glimmer of affection - it all made Anders nod and settle. He knew what had to be done, knew why he was doing it...but it didn’t take away the already mounting guilt, the sadness…

Anders watched Fenris settle to eat and wished he had never joined with Justice, had never become this desperate man on a desperate quest. More than anything, he wanted to see where life would take him and Fenris and he very much feared that life was only going to lead to heartache and his death.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very large booms...but not as destructive as it could have been...
> 
> I am sorry, Sebastian.

One week passed, and then two, and then three. Hawke was sent out to track down templars that had joined with the mages, had been sent out to track down more missing mages, and finally, had hunted a group of mages and templars to the coast - a group that had tried to ambush and take Merrill.

Each job led them back to the Gallows, each job embroiled them further into the roiling cauldron of the Circle. And after each job, Fenris would look at Anders with a question in his eyes and the mage would simply shake his head and they would go home.

Go home and eat, cuddle, talk, find pleasure in each other’s arms.

Fenris moved most of his few belongings to the Darktown clinic, and Anders packed them in packs. When not out helping Hawke, Fenris would sit in the clinic and watch Anders heal - watch the mage desperately try to help every person who staggered in...hoping it would be enough, hoping that each wave of his magic could stave off the inevitable ending to the stalemate.

And it was a stalemate. The templars sat on one side, the mages on the other. The City writhed in between the two factions - cried out for relief, for leadership, for anything. Hawke took it to the Grand Cleric, begged Her Grace to step into the conflict, and left the Chantry with pinched lips. She had gotten drunk at the Hanged Man, waving a bottle around while telling any who would listen that they should leave.

That the city was doomed.

And it was. Knight Commander Meredith was growing more paranoid. Her templars were seen in the streets now - harassing citizens about apostates. A child in Lowtown developed magic and the templars killed his mother while subduing the supposedly dangerous mage. The dangerous mage in question was seven and last seen sobbing hysterically while being dragged through Lowtown.

Hawke’s friends weren’t safe, either. The home Merrill had lived in had been broken into - her few remaining belongings trashed and scattered. Anders found himself hounded by two templar patrols - only safe because they hit while he was on the coast. Hawke left her home to find templars posted in the square - watching her as she headed out.

The tension tightened in the city and finally...almost a month after Danarius’ death, it all came to a head.

***

“Anders,” Hawke came stumbling into his clinic, her face pale. “Anders...oh Fenris...oh good. I need you both. I need you to come with me now. We have a problem. A big problem,” She was panting, hands reaching out to Anders in supplication.

“Hawke! Is it Merrill?” Anders grabbed his staff and glanced at Lirene, his assistant nodding at him as she took over cleaning out a wound.

“Knight Commander Meredith has lost it. She’s on the steps from Lowtown to Hightown. She’s...she’s fighting loudly with Orsino. Anders…” Hawke rushed ahead of the men out of the clinic, the rest of their group waiting just outside. “We need to solve this now, before innocents die.”

Fenris swallowed at her words and glanced up at Anders and saw the spark there that he had been fearing. That little line of fade blue that circled the mage’s eyes. This was it...this was the moment they had been waiting for.

Rushing out of Darktown with the group, Fenris saw Anders gesture to a young boy near the stairs, pass him a silver, and whisper one word “Fran.” The boy nodded, eyes going wide, and took off. The mage glanced over at Fenris, seemed to center himself, and then resumed following the group.

Up the stairs from Darktown, across Lowtown...passed the Hanged Man and then up more stairs to the market where the Knight Commander and First Enchanter were screaming. Gesturing widely. Hawke strode up the stairs and pushed between the two straining leaders.

“Enough!” she yelled, “Enough...what is all this, then?”

“Champion, I’m glad you’ve come. The Knight Commander has lost her mind. She’s called for the Rite of Annulment,” Orsino turned wild eyes to Hawke.

“There are blood mages in the tower, Orsino, and you know it,” Meredith said. “Champion, I don’t know why you are here but you would do well to move aside. Join with me and the Chantry, on the side of right.”

“Please, Champion. There are no blood mages. She’s sees them everywhere, she’s obsessed! Please, stop her. She’ll kill us all...down to the smallest child,” Orsino begged.

“Enough sniveling! The time to act is now,” Meredith growled.

“You’re right, Knight Commander. The time to act is now,” Anders said, stepping forward. “No more compromise, no more working to find a peaceful solution. There can be no peace. There can be no compromise...not in the face of such Injustice.” The word Injustice was backed by a spirit’s anger, Anders’ skin splitting fade blue.

“What...what is this? This...abomination?” Meredith gasped.

“Too long have we lived under your yoke. No more. YOU WILL PAY FOR EVERY LIFE, EVERY MAGE YOU HAVE EVER TOUCHED,” Justice took over. The Spirit’s anger radiated from him, the glow of the Fade filling the square.

“Anders...Justice...what have you done?” Hawke took a step down, eyes wide. “Tell me...what have you done?”

“WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE,” Justice said, gesturing up at the soaring Chantry. “WHAT NOBODY ELSE WOULD DO. WE LIGHT THE FIRE AND BRING JUSTICE BACK TO THIS WORLD.” He lifted his staff and slammed it into the stone pavers, power flaring from him. For a moment, nothing happened, nothing but the disturbance of birds and the quiet inhale…

And then Hightown lit up, the Chantry seemed to fold in on itself, pulse once, and then explode outward in a hail of bricks and magic and fire that arched up high and then down to wash over the slowly crumbling walls, shaking the city.

Screams filled the air...screams from Hightown. Below them, Lowtown groaned as if under a great weight. There was the smell of ozone and then a brilliant flash that threw the encroaching fire back. A shadow covered the sky and for a moment, the sound of wings, and then there was nothing but flames and falling bits of ash as Hightown burned…

And as Fran promised, everything from the lower market down stood...singed, covered in ash and soot and fear...but it stood.

Meredith inhaled at the destruction, at the show of power - but her silent rage was eclipsed by a scream as Sebastian crumpled, howled the name “Elthina,” and folded in on himself as grief ripped through him.

“The...Chantry…” whispered Orsino. “It’s gone. You fool! Why?”

“TO SHOW THERE CAN BE NO PEACE. TO SPUR CHANGE. TO BRING ABOUT THE END OF THE CIRCLE AND TO BALANCE THE SCALES,” Justice shook, Anders regaining control. “Because there could be no compromise, Orsino. You know it and I know it.”

“A mage as killed the Grand Cleric!” Meredith yelled. “A mage! To the Gallows! We enact the Rite of Annulment now.”

“No...no!” Orsino gasped. “The children...the mages...they are innocent...no!”

“Champion, join with me or suffer their fate,” Meredith turned wide, glazed eyes to Hawke. “Chose. Now!”

“I...can’t Meredith. No. What Anders did was wrong but...no...I will not be a party to murder,” Hawke backed away from Meredith.

“You stand with the mages? You fool! You will be cut down with them. Gather your people Orsino...run and gather your little mages. We march on the Gallows today,” Meredith turned and swept down the stairs into the Lowtown, her templars forming up behind her. “And Champion? Put your friend out of his misery...or I will…”

Orsino was clinging to Hawke who shook him off, “Get to the Gallows. We’ll join you in a moment. Go!” She shoved at the distraught mage, watching him stumble away.

Anders had staggered away from the group, sick to his stomach at the smells, the sounds...the feeling of all that destruction. Destruction that he had done. Him. The Healer. His hands...forever covered with the blood of those who had been in Hightown, in the Chantry. He sank down on a crate and covered his face and wondered if Fenris would ever forgive him.

“Hawke,” Fenris moved to his friend. “Hawke…”

“Fenris...how are you not...you knew. Oh Maker, you knew,” Hawke reached for the elf and gripped his shoulder tightly. “Why?”

“Because I love him,” Fenris said simply. “He gave me my freedom...I could do no less than give him his.”

“This isn’t...this is madness, Fenris,” Hawke said.

“This is the start of a revolution, Hawke,” Fenris said sharply. “One day, Tevinter will look like this. The slaves will rise up and burn the entire country to the ground. But that day is not today, and our concern is what you will do to Anders.”

“What is right,” Sebastian growled. “He deserves to die.”

Fenris didn’t glance at Sebastian, his eyes steady on Hawke. “You stood by Isabela when the Qunari came. You stood by Merrill when the Dalish wanted to kill her. Will you not stand with Anders?”

Hawke turned her eyes to Hightown, to the destruction, and then looked back at the hunched figure of a man she had long viewed as family. A man pushed to the brink by the city, by the politics...by life. “I should have seen it. He should have come to me.”

“He wanted to spare you the guilt. Let him live, Hawke. He will harm nobody else, I swear it.”

“Hawke...no. You can’t seriously be thinking of letting him go? Are you?” Sebastian stood, anger in his eyes. “If you do this...if you let him go, I will return to Starkhaven and gather an army. There will be no safe place for you, no safe harbor. I will hunt you and him and anybody else who supports…” His words cut off, mouth gaping.

“I am sorry, my friend,” Fenris whispered, eyes sad and hand plunged into Sebastian’s chest. “I am. You tried, in your way, to be kind to me. But I cannot allow you to raise that army. I cannot allow you to hunt our friends for your vengeance.”

“Fenris,” He gasped. “Please….”

“If I let you go, will you hunt us?” Fenris gazed into cerulean eyes and saw the truth even as Sebastian swallowed past the pain.

“I will hunt you till you are all nothing but ashes,” Sebastian whispered. He gasped again and Fenris closed his eyes as a man he called friend fell dead at his feet. The blood dripped from his hand, like the tears from his eyes, and he turned to look at the mage he called lover and hoped he wouldn’t have to do this to Hawke.

Hawke had moved across the square to Anders and was kneeling in front of the mage, her eyes wide on Fenris. When Sebastian fell she turned to Anders and lifted his chin, “Well?”

“You should…” Anders started.

“Mm, you shouldn’t give me orders, Anders,” She chided gently. “Are you with me? We have a Knight Commander to stop.”

“Hawke!” Anders gasped, surprise in his eyes.

Hawke gazed into the eyes of a man who had stood by her since nearly the beginning, who had saved her brother from the taint, who had held her when her mother died, healed her, laughed with her, and had stepped into the role of brother so easily and sighed, “To be fair, I would have blown up the statue in the docks as well. It’s bloody ugly and has me in templar armor.”

“Hawke!” Her name was choked out, a hysterical giggle backing the word.

“Well, are we going or what?” Aveline asked, disgust in her voice. “And don’t you think I’ve forgiven you, Anders. My guardsmen are up there.”

“I’m sorry Aveline,” Anders wheezed.

“Shall I get my ship ready?” Isabela bounced on her toes.

“After...we need to stop Meredith first,” Hawke said.

“Drinks and then the boat, Rivaini,” Varric said. “I’m happy you didn’t hit the Hanged Man. I would have put a bolt in a non-critical place if you had.”

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him,” Merrill spoke up. “He needs to help us finish this.”

Fenris smiled and moved to stand next to Anders, “I wouldn’t have let her anyways,” he said with a small smile. “Come mage. We have a mess to clean up. Why am I not surprised?”

Hawke shook her head, pulled her staff from her back, and squared her shoulders. “Well, it’s not like it’s the first time Kirkwall’s been on fire. Come on. Let’s go take care of this the proper way - with fireballs.”

Anders glanced over at Fenris, gave a sheepish shrug, and followed the group to the Gallows - where Hawke did, indeed, solve the entire problem with a whole lot of fireballs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Felixbug - again - for helping me with this story. It was a joy to write. I hope I did Fenris justice (haha) in this story.
> 
> And thank you for reading, commenting, the kudos...it, always, means so much to me!

**Epilogue**

“I’m sorry about your mansion,” Anders said for the third time in the past hour.

“Eh,” Hawke shrugged, “Everybody was fine. It just needs a little paint…”

“And a new roof…” Fenris added in.

“Where are we going?” Merrill plopped down on Hawke’s lap and leaned back. “Oh! How about Ferelden?”

Hawke glanced at Isabela and gave a wry smile, “Is that where’s she taking us?”

The group was on the Siren’s Call and watching Isabela call out orders and wave her hands. They were exhausted, the fight having been more than just “save the mages.” Meredith had been backed by a red lyrium sword - lyrium bought from Bartrand. Once Varric had finished cursing, they had gotten down to the business of fighting magical statues, templars, and a possessed Meredith. But the red lyrium proved unstable and Meredith was subsumed by it - turned into a smoking statue. Once Meredith fell, once the templars laid down their weapons, the group had had that drink, gathered their belongings, and left - pretty sure that their reprieve from was only temporary.

They were short two companions. Aveline had remained behind to rally the guard and restore order. Varric had refused to leave the Hanged Man and instead said he would recover what he could of Hawke’s fortune and have it sent to her via Isabela.

The rest of them...the four of them...sat on the deck of the Siren’s Call and watched Isabela work to get them underway. Where they would be going was a mystery - but none of them really cared.

Anders blinked as Fenris dropped onto his lap and leaned against the mage’s chest. “Would Ferelden be safe?”

“Well...I could see how the wardens feel about me,” Anders said with a sheepish smile. “They thought me dead.”

“Of course they did,” Fenris rolled his eyes.

“The Warden Commander might forgive me. Commander Tabris is a good man. And pretty forgiving,” Anders looked thoughtful. “Or he used to be.”

“Mage,” Fenris said, warning in his voice.

“Oh stop,” Anders pressed a quick kiss to the elf’s cheek.

“You will listen to me,” Fenris nagged. “I understand being on the run. Danarius never caught me.”

“He’s got you there,” Hawke pointed out, much to Anders’ annoyance.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter where we go, does it?” Merrill said. “As long as we’re together.”

“Oh Kitten,” Hawke squeezed the little elf and smiled.

“The witch is...correct,” Fenris said with a slight smile. “For once. As long as we are together, mage, anywhere is fine with me.”

“Who wants to visit Antiva?” Isabela called, laughter in her eyes.

“Never been to Antiva,” Hawke shrugged. “Sure, let’s go.”

“You heard the woman, lads. Put your backs into it! We won’t be catching the wind with you lot lollygagging about,” Isabela called out, striding to the helm to take the wheel. “To Antiva, boys.”

The sails turned and caught the wind, the ship surging forward. Isabela gave a laugh as they slowly moved away from Kirkwall. Looking back at the city, Anders had a brief thought that they should have burned down the slave statues. Wiped the city clean of all mention of oppression.

Fenris gripped Anders’ chin and turned his face so that all he could see was the elf. The slightly smiling elf who stroked a finger along his chin. “No looking back,” Fenris said. “Only forward.”

“Only forward,” Anders nodded and felt something in himself loosen, felt the chains that had bound him to Kirkwall unravel. They gained the open water and not a single person turned back to watch the city slowly disappear - their eyes fixed on each other, on the horizon, and their thoughts set firmly in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr under Warriormaggie.


End file.
